My nickname in middleschool was Fozzy the Bear because I was always constantly telling bad jokes. Very bad. I recall it fondly as a formative stage, paying my dues as it were in the "practice" of humor as perfected in the captive audiences of a bus line, recess football and class breaks. Inpired by bad puns, my dad's jokes and all things Patrick McManus, I died more than I killed. But just like Fozzy I was the eternal optimist, I never gave up. I wasn't old enough yet to to be exposed to the bitter irony and cynnicism that only a deep scarring experience with the troubles of the world can bring (that would come in Highschool). Those would prove crucial to my particularly bleak form of finding humor in all things. But starting out? Puns, punchlines and the occaisonal fart humor. That was my repetoire.
I would've preferred Animal, because you know, he was cool. But I can live with Fozzy. When it comes to patron saints, mine is Fozzy the Bear. Everyone should have a patron muppet. Like a personal totem, except made from a sock. Which is your patron muppet?