Just an average guy who on occasion saves damsels in distress, fights off evil monsters and occasionally rescues cute kittens from trees. I was born in a small Icelandic village and had a happy childhood until the day I became stranded on an icefloat. After months of loneliness, hunger and snowmen building, my float washed upon the shores of the strange, magical land the ancients call Canada. The local natives, called Canad-eeons, took me in and taught me the ways of curling, hockey and pancake making. Using my newfound skills, I made my way to the United States in the hopes of becoming the next Richard Simmons (considered a god in my childhood village). After discovering I had a severe allergy to spandax, my dreams were shattered. Instead I found myself working for the National Association of Peanut Collada Drinkers as a manager in the Drunken Flusies Branch. As part of a collaboration with the CIA,NSA and James Bond himself, I was put on a secret project to discover the final digit in Pie (it's 3, who woulda' guessed) I currently run a nonprofit organization that protects the rights of underprivlidged billiionaires and there little dogs. For hobbies, I enjoy making fun of people who need to be made fun of, finding faults in stuff that has no effect on me, needlessly complaining about why TV shows I liked from the 80s ever got cancelled, and defending my International Thumbwrestling Championship Belt (double jointed division). Oh, and to the reader of this, if you have read this much, I sincerely apologize for exposing you to my mindless drivel. But you can always just pretend that what I wrote was actually the most perfect thing you ever read from a guy in your life. Oh and pretend I'm really rich too.