Rich is from Long Island, but he tells everyone that he’s from Brooklyn. He’s not from Brooklyn. He just lives there. That’s why he prefers the company of Jews to Gentiles. For some reason, "Jews" sounds worse than “Jewish people.”
He has a great deal of titanium in his body because he made the mistake of going to the beach in New Jersey once and broke his hip. The ocean there is probably all juiced up with steroids. He really should have known that when he wants to go to the beach, all he has to do is fly to Miami to visit his oldest and dearest pal, Colin, with whom he roomed in college at the simultaneously over and underrated Tufts University. He majored in, like, something really liberal. Maybe Communism. Yes, that was it. And he had a minor in Political Justice Peace Equality Fairness Womyn’s Studies. He is also an attorney. Unlike everyone else who went to Tufts.
He spends his free time yelling at the top of his lungs about all kinds of stuff. Sometimes it’s about something really important, like pizza sauce (pronounced “sowss”), and other times it’s about trivial things like partisan politics and the Mets.
He also goes by the name Sleepasaurus.