Violence is funny.

I’ll let that sink in.

It’s true and you know it. Just come clean with it. This reality that you keep in the dark little corner of your mind that you pretend doesn’t exist — embrace it. You’ll be much happier as a person.

Okay, maybe not all violence is funny — but a lot of it is. War? Not so funny. Sexual violence? As much as everyone loves a good donkey punch joke, again, not really a laughing matter.

It’s all in the presentation. If violence is larger than life and exaggerated beyond belief, it can’t help but be funny. Look at True Lies, a movie where Arnold Schwarzenegger plays a CIA agent who single-handedly decimates the entire Arab-terrorist world while drugged up on tranquilizers — and that’s just one scene! Hardly a bastion of tolerant filmmaking, but the fact that the violence is so over-the-top makes it laughable above all else. The Three Stooges weren’t successful because of their sparkling, witty banter and high-brow social commentary; people just liked seeing dolts getting their eyes gouged and their skulls smashed with mallets.

(See also: Tom and Jerry, Laurel and Hardy, Wile E. Coyote and the Roadrunner, et al.)

It’s a simple kind of enjoyment, of course, but as humans, some of our most base, carnal desires and impulses are violent in nature. It’s okay. Really.

I’m sure we all remember the cultural phenomenon of America’s Funniest Home Videos and the phalanx of imitators that it spawned. This was an important era though — it allowed generations of people to stop feeling bad about laughing at young children falling out of trees, grown men getting hoofed in the nuts by footballs, and all manner of animal abuse. People watching violence in this sense can imagine it happening to them; the funny part is, well, that it isn’t.

And lest we forget those who embody the spirits of the sacred clowns — those whose goal in life is to make others laugh, and may well have been placed on this earth to do so — by any means necessary. People such as Steve-O (of Jackass fame) have made a career of inflicting pain on themselves, for what may be no other reason than to delight and entertain their audience. The sideshow, I believe, can be used as a modern-day encompassment of this ideal. And while not all sideshow performers are funny — the best ones are.

Enter Burnaby Q. Orbax.

Hailing from the sleepy farming town of Maidstone in southern Ontario, The Great Orbax has been carving out his niche in the world of classic sideshow performances — with a solid dose of vaudeville and burlesque thrown in for good measure — for over five years. BME regulars may recognize him as the emcee of BMEfest, an early member of the iWasCured suspension crew, or from his performances with his own traveling sideshow, Circo Loco. In addition to his performance life, Orbax is a scholar (literally), a teaching assistant, and the proprietor of Fiendish Curiosities, a company dedicated to producing leading edge sideshow gaffs and abnormalities — many of which are on display in Orbax’s travelling museum of oddities.

* * *

BME:	So Orbax — if that is your real name — when did this all start?
ORBAX:	I’m not quite sure where to trace back my desperate need to be the center of attention. And let’s make no mistake; my need to entertain is indelibly linked to this obsession of mine. I think, primarily, I’ve always wanted to share stories and concepts. When I was little I did a lot of living in my head; I had well over a hundred imaginary friends, all of which interacted with each other and were the focal points of various epic stories. I find that a lot of kids who grow up in relative isolation, even if they do have siblings (which is another story altogether) tend to have very intense creative drives. But, I think every child has these — they’re just not ridiculed away as quickly if you don’t live in a neighborhood full of other kids. In my case, you had to wait until grade school to have your belief structure mocked.    “We never really got along when we were kids — not one bit. We always fought, beat each other up, and basically hated each other. So, way back in the day — I was about eighteen — I went to get my first ‘professional’ piercing at Skew Skin in Windsor, and started talking to my piercer (oddly enough, it was syx on IAM). It came out that I was from Essex, and he asked if I knew Jason Thomas — Orbax — and I was like, ‘Dude! That’s my brother!’” “It turned out Syx had been piercing my brother for years. When you think that for our whole childhoods we had been piercing ourselves, since before we could remember — right across the hall from each other — and neither of us had any idea what the other was doing... it’s funny. And now my brother is one of my best friends. We still fight and stuff, but now we’re actually brothers — not just siblings.” - Joe Thomas (IAM:Kilean) My belief structure, of course, being that I was a monster. Blame Sesame Street or WDIV channel 50’s thriller double feature, but I would come to school dressed like a vampire, or howl at the moon, or hang upside down from chairs in kindergarten. Suffice to say I was an easy target, but I actually believed that I was a monster until everyone else told me that it was impossible. And that is something that has always bothered me, something I’ve tried to recapture through my circus exploits, and primarily something I’ve tried to achieve through body modification. I don’t know if this makes sense to everyone, but it certainly does to some: I was not a human being until I was made to be one. And because of that, I have always had body issues, always had issues of self-esteem — issues that I was only really able to conquer through body modification and performance. Only by finally reveling in what I was, was I able to achieve my true state — and that state is Orbax. I adopted that name when I began my true journey of self-realization, and will keep it when I finally achieve myself. I named myself, and by doing so, reclaimed the man-beast. Of course, I named myself after a cat medicine, but that’s because I had a really cool mug where if you put a hot liquid into it the vinyl cat sticker on the side exposed its metabolic pathway. But that’s neither here nor there... But back to growing up. I self published my own comic book at the age of eighteen, and had some minor success and varied distribution around Ontario and into the States. We — my other loser friends and I — also made several movies, a business that we still continue today. Then, after university, I spent several years in Ontario’s indie wrestling scene as well. Entertaining in some form or another has always been a large part of who I am.
BME:	What was your involvement with the independent wrestling circuit?
ORBAX:	When I moved away from Maidstone to go to University in Guelph, the guys I went to high school with (the same ones who I made movies with) went to wrestling school. When I came back to the farm during the summer in between my undergrad and my Master’s degrees, I started working out with them and learning the ins and outs of the business. My first match was in my old high school gym. The gimmick was that I was a sideshow performer (huge stretch, I know) and that I somehow got involved in the show and spat fire in someone’s face, and this bruiser took offence to it for some reason. I mean, he had a face. I spit fire. Talk about an equation for inevitability. So I got power-bombed out of the ring through a table on the outside; since then, I was hooked. So for a couple years we ran the OWA (Ontario Wrestling Alliance), but we ran into some major problems — surprisingly with other wrestlers and not with the authorities. Like I mentioned before, I used to make movies with the guys I was working with, so we had a pretty distinct sense of entertainment — really strange comedy mixed with extreme violence. Silly us, we figured that a wrestling show was supposed to be entertaining. Well, unfortunately many wrestlers don’t feel the same way. The indie wrestling community is a mix of smart guys who want to entertain and washed up jocks who think they are competing in a real sport. As they most often do, the jocks took over because the smart people just didn’t want to deal with them; it was like a wrestling version of Revenge of the Nerds. So, we finally got sick of doing shows for no money, getting hurt, and putting up with all the bullshit and politics, and quit. That, and apparently I may or may not have spit on someone’s baby. But seriously, if you bring a baby to the front row of a wrestling show and spit lands on it, am I the bad guy or are you the bad parent? Eh?
	Orbax In His Wrestling Days
BME:	A question for the ages, to be sure. Now, what made you realize that being a sideshow performer-ringmaster-comic was the life for you?
ORBAX:	Sideshow has been the ultimate combination of everything I am skilled at. I’ve always said that everyone has been given gifts. One of mine has been the ability to endure physical pain. But trust me, if you grew up working a hundred hours a week on a tomato farm, a little hook through the face is no big deal. Hell, my mom and dad are both missing fingers. Anyhow, sideshow is a world unto its own. As a monster, and as the ringmaster, I become everything I need. You have control. You have self-power. You have the ability to take the audience with you or leave them in the dust. For that hour or two that I am onstage, I’m a monster from the horror movies I grew up watching, and it is truly a freedom that is hard to imagine.
BME:	Did anyone teach you any of the stunts and tricks you perform, or was the learning process one painful bout of trial and error after another?
ORBAX:	Luckily I am incredibly intelligent, and as with everything, that always helps. When I was getting into this business I did tons of reading, lots of research on the web and otherwise; contacted performers, and when the first one wouldn’t help me, I’d keep emailing till someone would. As you can imagine, sideshow is a — most often unnecessarily — tight-lipped community. But once I knew the basics, I started small and worked my way up. I made a point of mastering all the traditional acts: Blockhead, bed of nails, fire eating, etc. I firmly believe that as we milk this dying art form for our livelihoods, the least we can do is to preserve it. None of the tricks you see out there are new; everything has been done by someone somewhere along the line, and the least a performer can do is honor the memory of the ghosts on stage with him by helping to preserve this truly unique part of North America’s heritage. Which, like all other parts of our heritage is pretty much full of stolen rituals from other cultures, but still worth preserving nonetheless. I guess I should also take this opportunity to thank The Lizardman for getting me off spitting Coleman’s fluid for fire bursts and possibly saving me from getting cancer. However, if I still get cancer, then screw that guy.
BME:	Hey, I thought he was pretty good on the X-Files. So, have you always been as comfortable and outgoing on stage as you are now, or did that come naturally with time?
ORBAX:	It’s funny, because even now I get incredibly nervous before I go onstage, but I always take that as a good thing. It keeps you on your toes and stops you from making mistakes. They say Liberace used to throw up before every show. Maybe it was because he was gay, but I think it kept him alert and ready. And after all, Liberace and I both wear sequined pants.
BME:	Now, just having a bunch of freaks up on a stage will generally attract some sort of crowd, but you make sure to heavily include a comedic aspect throughout the entire performance. How important is comedy to your act?
ORBAX:	Incredibly. The first modern professional sideshow I ever saw — which will remain nameless — really made an impact on me. I thought, “Wow, these guys are cool, but I could do this way better and make it funny.” I’ve seen so many self-serious, self-righteous, gothic acts; I can’t stand it. It really does something for creating a mood and establishing an ambience but, seriously, get over yourself. My take on it is, and always has been, that it’s entertainment. You and I both like to laugh. Do you want to go to a show and have the performers get all angsty up in your face? Or would you rather see something different, and be engaged by a talker who mocks you? Personally, I choose the latter. The other thing about comedy that I love is the impact. If you and I are joking around and suddenly I run a power drill into my skull, or jump into a pile of broken glass and barbed wire, you’re going to be taken off guard, maybe even more-so than if I had built up the feat in your mind. In this age of online anything, you have to really struggle to reach your audience, and comedy provides an immediate connection.
	Orbax Naps With Barbed Wire and Broken Glass
BME:	Well said. Now, as you’ve alluded to, you’re actually a well-educated, very intelligent guy — on your way to a PhD, no less! What kind of schooling have you gone through?
ORBAX:	I was always a 90-percentile student — again, one of the benefits of distraction free living. I graduated high school in 1996 (valedictorian, Governor General’s award), my Hnrs BSc. in 2000 (major physics, minor mathematics), my MSc in 2002 (experimental polymer physics) and am currently in my PhD. I’ve been funded for the last four years by the National Science and Research Council. Over my academic career I’ve accumulated something like three publications, a textbook, and over $100,000 in scholarships and bursaries.
BME:	Intelligence, of course, is certainly not a requirement to be a successful performer, but due to the nature of your act, you have to be quick on your feet — whether it’s properly dealing with problems during performances, or matching wits with the brightest or drunkest of hecklers. Has your educational background been a help as far as your performances are concerned?
ORBAX:	For sure. First off, having a strong understanding of physics and mechanics is imperative to anyone who wants to perform sideshow safely. Especially if you intend to push the boundaries in any way. In terms of reaction, I don’t know if my education has helped, but thank god for hecklers; they make half my show. I love a good heckle, and I love dishing out comebacks. And when it comes down to it I’m the one with the mic, so I win. Back in the wrestling days my brother and I used to go to wrestling shows and just tear those guys new assholes. As well, part of my wrestling gimmick as a heel was responding to heckles, and so I’ve said some pretty inappropriate things to some pretty young kids. But it sure shut them the hell up. This past Halloween our tent of oddities was at a local haunted house and it was the first time in a long time that I had to deal with kids. Don’t get me wrong, I really like doing shows for children, but let me tell you, thirteen year old boys in packs of six or more are brutal to work for. They just don’t believe anything, like somehow not believing something makes them ‘cool’. I literally had to get into a shouting match with one kid who insisted that my nose was fake, and that’s how I was able to do the blockhead routine. Finally I just gave up and had to say: “Well, it may be fake, but at least it’s not adopted.” I sure showed him, eh? Stupid thirteen year old. Left: With the help of The Lizardman, Orbax hurts the one that hurt him. Right: A heckler gets what’s coming to him at BMEFEST 2004.
BME:	So you like hecklers, do you? How about a little test of the ol’ reflexes: “Nice moustache! Where’d you hide the rest of the hobo?”
ORBAX:	Your mother!
BME:	“Hey Orbax! I’ve got something for you to drill into your face!”    *points to crotch*
ORBAX:	That’s what she said!
BME:	“Glass? I thought you only liked sticking your face in ass!”
ORBAX:	So? And you see, those were all just off the top of my head! It’s that sort of lightning fast wit and stage banter that gets me the big bucks! And people say Vaudeville’s dead. Psshhh.
BME:	Bested by a carny — the shame I’ve brought to my family is unimaginable. Now, do any parts of your act still make you uneasy or nervous, or is it all old hat by now?
ORBAX:	I won’t perform a trick unless I’m 100% comfortable with it. Back when I started, I used to think it was all about how much pain you could endure or how messed up you could get in front of an audience. Since then, I’ve realized I have so much more to offer by toning it down a little but increasing the production values. So now, instead of being 100% Pain Proof, I’m 101% (+/-1%). That’s a joke. But seriously, there are some things I’ll do for TV that I won’t do for an audience, like my bed of four nails, or a one-hook suspension. It’s all about risk, and when you’re on that stage there’s no way to control all the elements of your environment, so you need to be extremely comfortable with the stunts you’re performing.
BME:	Do you have a personal favorite stunt or trick to perform?
ORBAX:	My human blockhead routine is by far my favorite. It’s how I’ve started pretty much every show for 6 years, and I just keep adding more and more. It’s one trick — I stick something in my nose. But now I go for like thirty minutes just with that. Granted, I stick several things in my nose now, but I figure if I can entertain a crowd with one trick for thirty minutes, I must be doing something right.
BME:	Coming back to the television thing, can you tell me about the television show you were planning? What ever happened with that?
ORBAX:	Over the last two years I have been involved off and on with shooting a pilot for the Discovery Channel about weird and strange science. I was brought on to host the show and to provide the facts about some of the science behind sideshow feats, suspensions, and all other types of bizarre little scientific anomalies. It was a lot of fun, really. The best thing I got to do, though, was go out to Fahler, Alberta for their honey festival. It’s a weird little French Canadian settlement of about 6,000 out in the middle of the prairies, but due to the combination of daylight-nighttime hours, the flowering cash crops, and the moderate climate it has the highest honey production in the entire world. I actually got to wear a ten pound beard of approximately 20,000 honeybees; they covered my entire head except for one eye. The feeling was unreal. It’s actually very much like a suspension, where you have to fight and control that feeling of panic. If one bee stings you, they secrete a pheromone that alerts the hive to swarm. Luckily, honeybees will not respond to the pheromone unless agitated. I got stung about five times. As for the future of the show? Well, like everything in television, I don’t quite understand it. We shot two one-hour pilots, but somewhere between the production company and Discovery it’s landed in limbo. I still think it’s a great idea, and have actually adapted some of it into a ‘science of the sideshow’ lecture I give.
BME:	Where does this lecture take place?
ORBAX:	I’ve given this and similar lectures to my department during weekly faculty colloquiums, and am also trying to get it booked for children. I’ve always had a big problem with how math and science are taught in the schools, and I think that by showing people at a young age that science — and scientists — can be pretty fun and interesting, we may win over some of the young minds of tomorrow, and save them from a future of waiting tables with their BA rolled up in their back pocket. Pretty Polly (IAM:demons)
BME:	Now, what is Circo Loco?
ORBAX:	Circo Loco is my slap in the face to modern entertainment. I just got sick of going to see bands at bars. First off, who wants to see a band that just sits there and plays their derivative, lame music? Don’t people care about stage shows anymore? Second, I couldn’t stand going to see a band, then having to wait four hours to see five other bands, wait for tear down and set-up, etc. Circo Loco was designed with the hope that people wanted to see quality. First, we take Ontario’s — possibly the world’s — two greatest bands (and BME members as well), The Legendary Klopeks and The Matadors. These two bands are not only incredibly gifted musically, but put together some of the greatest stage shows I’ve ever seen. I actually met the Klopeks for the first time at BMEfest in Tweed, and from that moment I knew I had to work with them. As well, The Matadors are some of Canada’s greatest performers, consistently pulling in sell out crowds with their satanic rockabilly and horror show stage props. So we take these two bands, we have them each play for forty-five minutes, but before their sets we bring out someone else to indulge the crowd. Be it myself, other freaks like Pretty Polly (IAM: demons), a comedian, or maybe a burlesque girl. The idea was to bring entertainment back to the old days, when you went to a bar to see a musical act, but a comedian would warm up the audience, then some vaudeville, maybe a magician, and finally the singer. It’s not these animatronic performances of someone’s CD that we’ve become used to calling a concert. This was a night worth going to. And here’s the kicker, it only lasts a few hours — because people only have a real attention span for that long. And that was Circo Loco. A true burlesque freakshow cabaret.
	Orbax, Sweet Pepper Klopek, Hooch (of the Matadors)
BME:	Can you tell me about Fiendish Curiosities?
ORBAX:	Fiendish Curiosities began due to my obsession with monsters. For years I’ve been making creatures, Halloween costumes, props, that sort of thing. I have some experience in sculpture — both kinetic and traditional — and as my experience with rubber work and taxidermy increased I began filling my house with critters. I call it fixing god’s mistakes. None of my children ever get lonely... because they have two heads! I was able to combine my love of sideshow with my love of monsters by carving out a niche for myself artistically and producing custom sideshow displays. Rubber deformed babies, replica Siamese twin skulls, the alligator boy, and even two-headed rabbits — they all have a place in my home. I’ve sold my work to museums, traveling shows, haunted houses and private collectors in the US, Canada, Ireland, and Sweden. I also keep a selection of my favorite deformities (real and created) for exhibition in my own private museum that I bring out to performances. It was through this that I met another group of artists, MART (the Minnesota Association of Rogue Taxidermists), who’ve gotten a lot of press lately. As well, they have been doing gallery shows, which I’ve been invited to submit work to. So you may soon see Orbax crossing over into the field of fine art!
	Gaffs by Orbax’s Fiendish Curiosities
BME:	Now, at a Halloween show a few years ago, a fire act went awry and left you with some very serious burns on your face and head. What’s the whole story behind that?
ORBAX:	It was a dark and stormy night... Actually, it was my first show ever with The Matadors and The Legendary Klopeks, sort of a Circo Loco in training. I was performing between bands — some blockhead, some fire eating — and I was doing a cinder block break on the bed of nails where the top of the brick was going to be on fire. The fluid ignited too quickly though, igniting the vapors around my head and resulting in a splash of burning fuel onto my face. My entire head from the shoulders up was on fire for what seemed like thirty seconds, but was probably only ten. I remember only seeing orange, that weird under-fire shade of it that some of you might know, and rolling around trying to put it out. I remember being on fire for so long, and getting past that point of thinking, “okay let’s get it out” and going directly to, “I’m going to die.” I remember actually hearing myself go hysterical with screaming and thinking, “Are those my screams?” Finally, the crowd realized this act wasn’t part of the show and helped put me out. I stood up, said, “Thank you ladies and gentlemen, I am the great Orbax”, and walked over to my friends to inform them that we needed to go to the hospital. I had a pretty sweet two minutes or so of complete clarity before the shock set in. It was also a pretty sweet two minutes of all the skin on my head bubbling off. I waited outside for an ambulance as my pain receptors slowly started to leak the searing sensation I was to have for the next two weeks into my brain. By the time the ambulance came, I was in pretty rough shape. After a field wrap of my entire head and two missed injections, I finally got my morphine drip. It was the only time in my life and career that I was pretty sure I could actually die. I’ve done some pretty death defying things before, but this time I legitimately thought I was on my way out. I thought about my grampa who passed away a couple years before who was one of the most important people in my life, and I thought about the girl I was in love with at the time, and then I actually did my deathbed recant. I figured what could it hurt, worst case scenario I’m right and it doesn’t matter, best case scenario I’m wrong, it does matter, and I get into heaven. Pretty much win-win. I spent ten days in the Hamilton burn ward where I was cared for excellently, and sent home to be home nursed for another month. It was funny, the first person I heard from when I came to was a nurse who came in to tell me that “My dad Shannon called and said if I needed anything to call him.” Apparently Shannon Larratt had pretended to be my father in order to call in and check on me, which meant a lot. Although I think it may have just been a ploy to get the footage. [Editor’s note: Shannon does now have all the footage. Draw your own conclusions.]
BME:	But you healed incredibly well and quickly, from what I understand. Was there any concern that you wouldn’t make out as well as you did?
ORBAX:	I went about twelve hours before I was able to see my face. During that time I got diagnoses everywhere from losing my ears to needing skin grafts across my forehead. Had I been hit an inch lower I would have been blind. Had I been on fire longer I would have scarred my lungs from the flames and/or lost my voice. I was pretty happy to be alive, let alone come out almost the same. The only ill effects I experience today are the occasional nightmares. Funny story: While I was being x-rayed the nurse was telling me about burns and the burn ward, and how people can get almost better and still die. Seeing my obvious distress she threw in an, “Oh, but they’re burned much worse than you are.” One of the worst things in the hospital was shaving. They made me shave every day because, apparently, new follicle growth traps bacteria. So I would make them give me my morphine first, and then use up three or four daisy razors in the bathroom, throwing them away because they’d get clogged with my skin.
	Orbax’s Incredible Recovery
BME:	And now you’ve since eliminated fire from your act — did this incident make you reconsider your career in the field altogether? Or is it just accepted that things like this can and do happen sometimes?
ORBAX:	It was basically a point where I needed to decide what I was going to do. Was I going to abandon this life, or completely commit to it? I decided to commit to it. Since then, no fire in the act. Which is actually more of a blessing than a curse I think. When you have fire, that’s all anyone wants to see, and it’s way harder to entrap an audience with a much subtler trick than with a giant explosion. So I think all in all it’s made me a better performer. Plus, in order to grow as Orbax I needed to burn away what was left of my old self. I won’t teach or encourage fire anymore; I don’t think it’s worth it in a show. I still think it looks cool, but a good performer doesn’t need it, and many bad performers use it to mask their inadequacies. So my word of advice to anyone who wants to do fire, or who wants to be in sideshow is this: Go to the burn ward. Look around at the guy with no nose, or the grampa without a chest, and tell me whether or not fire tricks are worth it.
	It may not look it, but it’s still safer than playing with fire.
BME:	You mention in your upcoming book that if you were an American act, you would likely be experiencing a much higher level of success than you are in Canada. What’s keeping you from taking your act across the border and getting the exposure you deserve?
ORBAX:	I love Canada. I grew up here, my heart belongs here, and I honestly will probably never move away. I grew up poor, and I’ve lived as a student for nine years, so believe me — I don’t need much to be happy. I have no aspirations to be rich — just to do what I love doing. It would be sweet to buy groceries though... In all seriousness though, I think that as a Canadian there really is a glass ceiling of celebrity, and that without national television status, no one outside of a hundred kilometer radius of you will ever know your name. I’m an idealistic youth, and so I’m going to try and work to break that ceiling. Maybe sideshow isn’t the answer, but I have many other projects cooking in the pot.
BME:	Now, Erik Sprague — The Lizardman — has said that due to the nature of his act and his persona, he has to be “on” pretty much all the time — if someone wants to chat or take a photo in the local supermarket, men’s big and tall clothing store, or sex shop, he always has to be ready to be The Lizardman. Do you feel that kind of pressure or obligation to always be in performance mode?
ORBAX:	The thing about that is... Orbax is pretty much me. Unfortunately, Erik is a lizard, and I think, as a result, people have certain expectations: That he be sluggish in cold weather. That he sloughs his skin once a year. That he drops his tail when he feels endangered, threatened, or sexually aroused. Luckily for me, Orbax is pretty much just a dirty carny, which I look like most of the time anyways. My act is one that sustains itself on humor, and people tend to see me as a normal, albeit ruggedly handsome, guy. And unless I have my shirt off very few people realize I’m actually covered with monster spots. My ear pointing is fairly subtle, and all my implants are covered by my fat, so the only thing people notice is my moustache, and I think that just makes me look like I’m homeless, not a freak.
	Orbax’s Ear Pointing
BME:	I think the moustache is charming, acutally. I’m not sure I’ve even noticed your implants though! What kind of body modification work do you have done?
ORBAX:	I have four PVD coated titanium sternum beads done by Syx, and very subtly pointed ears by Brian Decker (IAM:xPUREx). My only piercing that I have left is a zero gauge septum that I stretched up gauge by gauge from twelve gauge initially. As well, I have my chest and thighs tattooed, and something on the order of four hundred and fifty monster spots tattooed across my back, shoulders, and thighs.
BME:	Because the work you’re doing is somewhat out of the mainstream, do you find yourself having to struggle a bit harder for legitimacy as a performer or an artist?
ORBAX:	Yes. Most ‘performing artists’, and really, ‘artists’ in general, have the whole arts conceit that unless what you’re doing has some obscure philosophical meaning then you don’t belong on their level. Truthfully, after attending university arts classes, it’s pretty hard for me to have any respect for anyone who claims to be an artist. I like to judge people on their work, not on how many wine and cheeses they attend. That’s right, I only judge people on what they produce. Well, that and the color of their skin.
BME:	What an awful thing to say. And with that, any last words of wisdom, success tips or the like?
ORBAX:	Well, I like to think that part of the reason I’ve done so well is that I’ve never tried to screw anyone over. I think it’s really important to surround yourself with quality individuals both on stage and behind the scenes. And hard work really does pay off. And I’d like to thank my mom. And the academy, and god, but most of all, Satan, for coming through with his end of the bargain...

* * *

As well, Orbax recently placed second in Toronto radio station 102.1 The Edge’s freakshow contest, and is currently doing a string of performances with the contest’s winner. The winner’s act? Getting hit in the crotch with a shot from a potato gun.

“I call it the Bob Saget syndrome,” says Orbax. In spite of it being a contest with hundreds of entrants with a vast array of skills among them, Orbax accepts, “North Americans want to see the football in the groin.”

Check Orbax out online at thegreatorbax.com or on his IAM page, as well as his gaff and prop company, Fiendish Curiosities.

- Jordan Ginsberg  (iam:snackninja)


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