"Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend. Inside of a dog it's too dark to read."
-- Groucho Marx
Well, as far as I know I'm just another schlep, feigning as best he can to pass off as a wanna-be writer. Sure, I could list a myriad of "influences" that I may have drawn from.. like "personal experiences" endured throughout "colorful past" (All items marked in " are public-domain and are thus open for manipulation)-- But the truth is that I have this strange condition, something like a nagging tumor burrowed into my frontal lobe that invokes these strange urges compelling me to write intermittent bits of near incomprehensible drivel. Prognosis...grim. Treatment? Type feverishly on laptop keyboard to relieve tension. If all else fails, use laptop as blunt object and resume head-bashing ritual.