Insert generic opening statement about hating self-summaries and then the difficulty of straddling the divide between craving attention and maintaining the proper aloofness. What an odd, conflicted little profile it is. But that dichotomy is ultimately humanizing and charming, isn't it?

I'm a funny, down-to-earth guy that doesn't really get why people enjoy "drama". I draw really well, make paintings with robots in them, like learning new things, and remember video games' immortal Contra code. I can fix laptops when they break. I go camping all the time, enjoy being around trees, swimming in lakes. I know way more than is healthy about movies and can help inflate your Netflix queue. I took far too many literature classes in college and it warped my brains. I always want more music.

I keep mentioning that I'm really funny, which is a terrible thing to say when you're funny. I've passed beyond funny now. I'm anti-funny, collapsing into a gravitational singularity of unfunny that sucks every bit of laughter out of a room. Look what I've done! Hot goddamn!

I'm out, but will unleash the battle cry of every gay guy who has ever had an internet profile and declare that I'm way too damned awesome and non-mainstream to fit into the "scene" and prefer to avoid lurking in clubs every weekend.

If you let me cook you a meal, I will accidentally burn down your house and everything you love will be consumed by flames.

And since I'm not fooling anyone: yeah, I'm kind of a tall, beefy, cuddly geek.

Living in Philly, drawing, enjoying the outdoors, packing my neurons with pop culture references until my brain explodes and dribbles out my ears, random trips up and down the east coast, and slowly separating my shoulder with the Nintendo Wii.

Beating you up in Street Fighter 2. Possibly in Tetris. I'm excellent at recalling trivia with exquisite detail, but often forget what I ate for breakfast. I also pump out a high ratio of witty remarks. If a zombie epidemic swept the planet, I'd be a valuable asset to my fellow survivors.

The smile emblazoned on my skull. And my height. And my hair being on fire.

Difficult to drill down. Brief highlight reel?

Movies: Brazil, Evil Dead 1 and 2, Harold and Maude, Pee-Wee's Big Adventure, Halloween (1978), The Royal Tenenbaums, David Lynch stuff, and more B-grade trash than I can comfortably name.

Books: Watership Down, Geek Love, Lolita, Hunter S. Thompson, Flannery O' Connor, and a healthy dose of Vonnegut.

Music: Yo La Tengo, Radiohead, The Smiths, The Magnetic Fields, Bright Eyes, the Beatles (duh), Animal Collective, The Handsome Family, David Bowie, and five trazillion other things.

A sarcastic tone of voice, coffee, the idea of robots, bad movies, videogame-induced relaxation, and that look from friends that tells me when I've taken a joke too far.

the infinite nature of the universe and the finite nature of my bank account. And parallels between whatever my current situation is and how it matches up to some movie reference. And, sometimes, those anxious thoughts that pile up late in the middle of the night.

Hanging out with gang, drinking beers somewhere. Sometimes staring at my TV. Sometimes playing videogames. Sometimes camping. Sometimes sleeping.

This wicked sense of humor is covering up an aching vulnerability.

it amuses you. Me? I like when that little thing in the corner turns all magenta and declares itself full of mails. Gives me a narcotic Pavlovian thrill.