According to prophecy, my existance primarily entails being an mentally enslaved undead drone in an a wretched hive of scum, villainy, and country music, whispered by the locals in their dark dungeons of sacrifice and chicken grease as "B-Town." But to the rest of the world called between gasps and whimpers and much gnashing of the teeth, "Bakersfield." Actually, it's not a bad place to live. It's big enough to have the essential cool things like malls, etc, and is close enough to pretty much anywhere else that's cool but much more crowded to be.

Awake but still undead, I serve the Dark Lord Davis at his shop of archane herbs and diapers, yes that place of healing at a wretched price, Rite Aid, an excellent store for finding the medical basics of life, plus a loaf of bread, gallon of milk and a box of Trojans. I entered into our story back in the May 8, 1970 issue of Those Wild and Wacky Earthlings. In that pivotal year, the Beatles (in my opinion) got bored of being Beatles, kinda like chat rooms break up, and Star Trek (The Original Series) was off the air for a year. I share my birthday with such notable notables such as Sir Richard Attenbourgh, Melissa Gilbert, and the late and great United States president Harry S. Truman: wise old actor, great president and an actress that was something of a looker.

I like people who like to talk or just hang out and are light-hearted, and aren't serious about anything but being a pal. I like people who are fun to be with even when there not a solitary thing to do.

• The National Rifle Association. (Hey Chuck, you're just a washed up but well heeled actor, not moses. okay?) This isn't 1776 anymore, gentlemen. Perhaps if all these people put their energies toward preserving American freedom and ideals, they wouldn't feel the need to own a gun.
• Less serious, but none the less annoying, is scooping Thrifty Ice Cream at work. I don't know what it is about it, but everyone who works at at Rite Aid that has a hand-dip counter grows to loathe this task and I'm no acception.