I’m a painter, not a writer, but oftentimes the pictures can’t get out until the words are out of the way. I have terrible grammar. I wish I could sigh dramatically and whisper, “Alas …” on a daily basis, or something equally ridiculous. I miss being a kid. Sarcasm often goes straight over my head, but I respond well to facetiousness. I so rarely put my clothes away that I swear the piles procreate (the pile of dirty clothes is the most promiscuous, no surprises there). I’m all over The Apocalypse, Zombification and Choose Your Own Adventures. Although, I doubt I’ll ever write about any of them. See the bad grammar? Well, I thought Granny Grammer was a big snore. I keep writing this biography because my character count hasn’t run out yet … I don’t think Peace on Earth is possible, but Good Will to Men is more than acheiveable if everyone would laugh more, pass around non-creepy hugs and get laid at least once a year (far more often if you are a world leader in charge of WMDs). My big secret …