In this short autobiography, you may learn a few useful facts about me that might not otherwise be discovered by looking at my page.
I will not introduce myself. I surmise that the large name at the top of the page is a big hint at what my identity is. I am not an overly egotistical villain bent on world domination who feels he must introduce himself every time he trains a death ray on you or unleashes a pack of ninja assassin kitties armed with razor sharp claws and fluffy throwing stars.
I would most likely be the poor soul who would be at the mercy of said villain.
Like James Bond, I probably would have a witty comeback.
Unlike James Bond, I probably would not have the skills to engage in hand-to-hand combat with lethal kitties and tap dance my way out of the path of a horrific death ray.
I have many intriguing stories at my disposal involving drunk sorority chicks that leap out of moving vehicles, sexual encounters on beds on wheels that won’t lock that refuse to remain still and instead roll around the room in an attempt to simulate action on a roller coaster, and sadistic squirrels with scary schemes to steal my spaghetti.
As a self-published poet and aspiring novelist, I am always pondering, scheming, and plotting some insane scenario, sadistic demise, or awkward coupling. I will often muse on said points and then decide whether to pursue the current task or discard it. We writers are very particular creatures, and I am not exception.
If you would like to learn more about my life, simply ask. Just know that, in doing so, you never know what odd tales you may discover waiting in the warehouse that is my brain.