"Steve" comes from the fertile comedic imagination of Marc Ryan.
Being, however, that Ryan is from my hometown, Baton Rouge . . . you know and I know there's more than a couple "real Steves" out there. I know 'em, and Ryan knows 'em, too.
Hell, I'm related to at least a few.
LET'S JUST SAY you haven't lived until one of your uncles comes roarin' up a gravel road, barely missing the ditches on either side, then falls out of his beat-up POS car . . . a pint of Seagram's in his back pocket. And then starts drinkin' with your other uncle, who's half in the tank, drinkin' in the yard with a couple of female Head of Island barflies.
Then the show starts.
Drunk Uncle A manages to "insult" Barfly C, won't apologize, and then gets his ass thoroughly kicked by Drunk Uncle B. If only they'd had Tasers back then.
So, yeah . . . ah know Steve. Hell, those two weren't even the most Steve-ish characters in the fambly.
But if you can't laugh at Steve until your highball is spewin' out your nose, what you gonna do? Hahn, podna?