Adopted by wolves, I learned to hunt, scavenge and rock a mullet. Hobos rescued me and raised me as their own, teaching me the trade and craft of the transient. I rode the rails through my pre-adolesence, having adventures and dispensing wisdom to those I encountered. Stowing away on a container ship, I made my way to England to seek my fortune as a Cockney chimney sweep. Failing that, I returned to New England to while away my formative years in a sleepy village north of Manchester, NH, refining my awesome and remaining blissfully unburdened by lameness. Tragically, I lost my mullet in a bear attack last year.
