Who am I?
Well, isn't that one of life's great mysteries? I mean, what was I put here to do and why me? This is some deep existential stuff, and I don't mean to take it lightly. It is for that reason that I will not be mucking up this ABOUT page with all the flamboyant autobiographical mumbo-jumbo. All you need to know is that I am a very qualified homeless writer who spends most of his time loitering in local Starbucks while I "work" on my next book. Only, Starbucks is a metaphor for the Shaolin Monk's code of honor, book is a metaphor for intellectual success resulting in massive wealth, and "work" simply means that I partake in nothing that i've mentioned so far. The truth is that I don't exist. I am a projection of your subconscious, created out of the mental maelstrom developed from a lifetime of missed opportunities, inadequacy, and regret. It must be tough to just learn that your entire existence essentially just became the sequel to Fight Club. Well, its true; the matrix is real, the cure is disease, he's been insane the whole time, and this website is simply part of a class i'm (you're) taking. Boom.