Some call him Marky, others say TradeMarc and many still will tell you, this is a Cousin Marky. He calls himself me. Since I'm writing my own biography, lets take a journey into the distant past where we can observe the starting point of this mysterious musical tale. *chime sound.SFX* ..It was the summer of 83', a year be-speckled with startling events such as Don Muraco beating Pedro Morales to become WWF Intercontinental Champ, Radio Shack announcing the Tandy Model 2000 computer and other non music related successes. The shows "He Man", "Black Adder" & "the A-Team" were the most popular shows at that time. All the while, across the globe in Adelaide city, A baby Marky lays chillin in his hospital crib. Cold chillin. He finds himself intrigued by the stuffed dolls and their non interest in his revolutionary ideas. The sounds could be heard throughout the wards, as his cries of freedom belted post haste from the very threads of his blue snuggie. Eventually, driven to the brinks of insanity, he finds himself calculating the acoustics of his crib in some effort to amplify this message from his mini studio. Later that afternoon, based on the more accurate diffusion of his cries, he concluded the overall sound quality was pretty d**e. As the years unfolded, he gradually grew longer limbs, facial hair and an understanding of the alphabet, which he quite enjoyed. As it goes, Marky found that by adding together these alphabets, he could make sounds which were like other sounds, but different...it began to snowball and before long there was pages of these sound things... these raps. Today, some 30 years later, we find Marky living entirely for his art and crib acoustics. Where there was once a constructive member of society in the form of an agent in a cubefarm, there are now stacks of CD's and fun times. What happened in those 30 years, i hear you ask. Well, young whatever your name is, that is where the story lies. I am your host - One of the Marky's, so Come with me on this breezy journey into a GroundHog Daze.