She goes by 'Jean Louis' and appears to identify as female and a Misha Collins wrangler. That is all we know for certain about the enigmatic figure behind the head of the international institution of chaos, gishwhes. (At time of print our fact checkers had received conflicting information on the exact deployment of upper case in the orginisation's name, presumed to be a deflection strategy.)
Was she named for a French king? A pair of trusty denim work trousers? A badly aimed dart that narrowly misses the head of an innocent drunk in unfortunate proximity? We can no more speak to the veracity of these claims than to the unceremonious exile of a certain green leafy vegetable this year.
She's either very good at her job or exceptionally bad, judging by her charge- a Mr. Misha Collins. His public desire and outbursts are notoriously silly and unfiltered, suggesting that Miss Louis definitely has both her hands full and possibly a vault's worth of suppressed antics and wildly engineered cross-species. There has been talk of something called a "Jefferson Starship" which necessitated nigh on an actual apocalypse to contain, although we cannot confirm its connection to the more benign Wooster, Fograt, Elopus or Slangaroo.
Our on-staff identikit artists were tasked to come up with a likeness of Miss Louis based on fourth-hand accounts, numerology and a vague sense of unease brought on by the indefinite article. Mysteriously, their rigorously scientific pursuits returned only a question mark in a proprietary typeface and for one unlucky intern, sleepness nights plagued with visions of an oversized sock monkey face. When asked for comment, close personal friend and capital tormentor William Shatner returned with only, "This email address is invalid, go away." Curiouser and curiouser.
Of course rumours still abound that the identity of Miss Jean Louis is a mystery even to Mr. Collins and the discovery of which will be the subject of an item in the notoriously secretive gishwhes hunt in future years. Only time will tell. Until then, we can but speculate, stare longingly at punctuation in Helvetica and make forlorn evening gowns of a now discarded, slightly weepy cruciferous vegetable.