Tyler of Argos

Tyler Benjamin Adams, a loose cannon born on the fourth of July. He only hates one man on earth and his best friend is in this very class. He’s a fortunate son, but with a short and sweet kiss from lady luck he’s been known to bring down the house. Legend has it that Tyler was borne of a flaming pterodactyl egg, long forgotten between the teeth of Roosevelt of Mt. Rushmore. In truth though, he was really conceived of a traveling gypsy and Zeus himself. Tyler knew he was destined for greatness! One day he would become a true hero and rejoin his father among the gods and cooper town Hall o’ Famers. What truly happened however, has been inscribed upon the undersides of the Whigwums on the Isle of Man in a series of four articles which magically continue writing themselves: Immediately after the placenta was removed from his eyes, he strangled the doctor with his own umbilical cord and drank the nurse’s blood to regain his strength. Just as he was feeling better, he turned around to see the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse struggling to emerge from his gypsy mother’s womb. He swiftly grabbed his umbilical cord and used it as an improvised whip. “Back, Back I say!” he yelled with a firm voice suitable to a 35 year old man. “Now is not your time!” I don’t know if you’ve heard this, but all horses used to be Unicorns. When Tyler used to get hungry, he would break off their horns and suck out the marrow…kind of like a pacifier. The reason why he is so tall is to talk to his father; he gets better reception that way. Much of Tyler’s life has been lost to history because of his disappearance for 10 years of his life….much like Jesus. Tyler is a sheisty wannabe Jew. He always wants to know how much money he needs, even when he uses credit. Tyler does not turn right on right turn only streets. Tyler grew up with a normal childhood like and other destiny bound son of Zeus. Summers spent at Laguna Beach rubbing elbows with the stars…Ritualistically shaving his testicles at age thirteen. Tyler currently holds a job at the world famous dessert establishment aptly named the Yogurt Mill. By day, he serves yogurt with a caring smile and engaging personality. By night, he plays poker in the 3rd story tower with the local Irish mod bosses. Tyler never sleeps, he waits. His connections to the mafia have never been traced, but it can be ruled that the FBI has set up surveillance operations under the guise of a bakery across the street. Having the Vietnamese allies at Panda Rise two doors down has helped keep the fascist government pigs at bay.