Bruce Lee once said, “be like water.” There’s also an old saying that, “water finds its own level.”

When we ran into each other in Honolulu at the very beginnings of our comedy lives, Kento in his sumo outfit and I in my Spuds MacKenzie high tops, it seemed we were destined for a lifetime of friendship. Like the oddballs who gravitate to each other at any high school cafeteria’s “weird kids table,” ours was an alliance born of recognition of kindred spirits. We were water, finding our own level.

Ken Komoto (aka Kento, aka The Asian Invasian) became my comrade, collaborator and confederate through this journey of life and laughs. We rose through the ranks at coffeehouse open mics, moving to opening spots at the local comedy club and later even touring together. I cheered him on through his first national TV spot and international tour, as he would also do for me later.

Pro wrestling was a huge passion for both of us, and we even went to see Hulk Hogan vs. Ric Flair for the WWF championship. (Yes, WWF. That’s how old we are.) At the conclusion of some of my stand-up shows, Kento would come on stage dressed either as Saddam Hussein or Elvis Presley and I would proceed to beat the hell out of him with a steel chair. Man, he could really sell a chair shot and ankle lock.

That’s not the only thing he could sell, either. Kento never broke character. One time during my morning radio show, we were raising money for a charity for the late singer, Israel Kamakawiwoole. Donations were slow until a redneck called the show and went on an ignorant rant about his disdain for Iz’s music and all things Hawaiian. We ended up raising a good amount of money after that call. And I guess it’s safe to say now that the caller was Kento. Stirring up the crowd in perfect heel fashion.

Kento demanded to emcee my wedding reception, and I could not have imagined anyone else better suited to be the ringmaster of that circus. And speaking of circuses, how many children did he delight over the years with his balloon creations? Far too many to count. Too many comedians ironically say after a dirty joke that they are, “available for kids’ parties,” but only Kento meant it.

Always the most interesting person at any table, most times Kento was just content to let other people think they were. But I knew. He knew. Kento was the kind of guy to instigate a lightsaber battle with Jon Lovitz.

His bulletproof stand-up set could lay waste to any audience, any place.

I will miss him so much. And whether you knew him as Ken or Kento or Long Dong Fong or the guy who did your kid’s party, I know you will miss him too. I’m going to miss our spirited political discussions, our daring food adventures (always something different), our shared sci-fi geekery, all of the hilariously inappropriate and entirely cancel-worthy sketches that we plotted out which will never see the light of day.

And now, like water evaporates, you too are gone, Kento. But I know that, like water, you are still all around us. Probably in these damn tears right now.