A tale of human oddity from my hometown:

My friends and I were standing at the bar in a dimly-lit music hall, waiting to see our favorite local pothead band. A heavyset Mediterranean-looking older man was moving slowly around the room, sipping a beer and bopping slightly to the music. He had wild curly hair like a homeless person, and a general air of oiliness. He approached the bar and clumsily pushed aside my friend Mary Kate in his haste to order another beer. With a shocked curse, MK stumbled forward into the bar. She threw a disgusted look at the man, and shouted at us through the music, "Look at this, the motherfuckin Big Ragu just kicked my ass." My friend Sarah and I laughed, and Sarah commented that Eddie was always making a scene on account of him being such a lousy drunk, and because he loves to be recognized. MK's like, "What the fuck are you talking about?"
So Sarah explains, "I thought you knew who he was, you called him the Big Ragu. That's Eddie Mekka." And MK goes, "Oh shit, I thought he just LOOKED like the Big Ragu." We pointed out to MK that Eddie was, in fact, wearing his satin TV Land jacket at that very moment.

Eddie Mekka, sad sad hairy man.