I was born in a bog on the outskirts of Chilton, WI to a pair of hermetic northern pike enthusiasts. From there, I traveled near and thin in search of the One Great Fluttering Moment. Failing that, I sank back into the ooze from which I sprang until I was dried out and de-haired by the Extinguished Guests of the Blabberpuddlers. I speak to you now through this porthole and/or pothole, because my lips are currently wrapped around a rusty fish hook... I've got really bad allergies and am addicted to mold.
