I asked my three best friends to help me out on this. The first one said I was a combination of Einstein, Gandhi, and Elvis, in that I had the IQ of Elvis, the sex appeal of Einstein, and the wealth of Gandhi. The second, a prison guard, said he "reckoned he’d known worse," while the third looked at me blearily from his bar stool and said, “Do I know you?”
Clearly, I am going to have to do this on my own.
I had an uneventful childhood. The product of an illicit union between the deposed king of Bulgaria and a Soviet actress who starred in such runaway hits as "Next Decade We Double Wheat Production," I was whisked away to be raised by a kindly family of Laplanders in Northern Finland. (To this day I smell faintly of reindeer, though I seem to have solved the flea problem.) At 17, eager to discover the world beyond my yurt, I joined a circus of juggling unicyclists and made my way to Japan, where--yadi yadi yada--I became the designated companion to a Yakuza chief’s troubled first son. This son’s energies were entirely devoted to the drawing of pornographic cartoons, descriptions of which OkCupid has asked me to delete. His comic books have now made him one of the richest men in Japan.
Eventually I made my way to LA on a steamer ship, learned English from a Jamaican stevedore, and lost my virginity to a 17-year old Irish ingénue named Rose, who for some reason kept calling me Jack.
Anyhow, I could go on, but here's the bottom line: Despite all these adventures, I've yet to meet you. And I'm pretty sure we're going to be each other's best adventure yet. So let's get started.