My career as a monkey handler to the stars curtailed due to several incidents involving dismemberment and involuntary shaving, I now spend my days in Iowa with my girlfriend, a dog and cat, and a hell of a lot of bills that remind me of being a man. A man with an awful lot of life insurance and a romanticism when it comes to murder-suicide pacts.

An English degree in my back pocket from a school that taught me an awful lot about writing and a lot less about humility, I’ve stumbled from one job to the next, hoping each time that my next leap will be the leap home. When not being ground up by the cogs of society to pay the bills, I like to spend my time plotting one “get rich quick” scheme after another, but then I remember that I don’t like ties and, hey, what’s on tv?

So, here. I’m a fat guy. I know an awful lot of stuff, in a way that’s vaguely concerning. More stuff than you, I can guarantee you. Unless you are some kind of savant or random game-show contestant (I really can’t compete with that). I’ve had formal training in writing and editing, but I’ve spent most of my professional life working in retail of one sort or another. Not a lot of love for the English majors of the world. No big deal. When the New World Order is organized by knowledge of Shakespeare and the OED, I’ll be making all you imbeciles lick my sack. So, there’s always that.