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AIM Name: ScurvyWombat
One-Line Bio
College student in Baltimore living with parents for the summer.
Interests
Bikes, Philosophy, Politics, COmputer Games, DoD, Guitar, All Night Diners
Biography
I was born in 1983 in Tunis in a small, white stucco house overlooking the sea. My father was a pirate-turned-cattlerancher and my mother was an archeologist. Unfortunately, my dear mother was decapitated by an ancient Sumerian boobytrap while excavating a ziggurat, leaving my hapless father who's cattle ranch was crumbling around him. My father turned to the one thing in his life that he knew was a constant. A life of crime on the high seas. Thus, by the time I was 4 I had killed 3 men, could strip and field clean an AK47 faster than any man in my father's crew, and had seen two oceans and four seas. Alas, that same year, 1987, a violent storm caught me offguard and pulled me overboard and brought me ashore in Mauritania. Fortunately, I still Genghis with me, who hunted for small birds and helped keep me alive. I worked my way north, bound for Morocco. By the end of the year I was in Rabat, working on a small farm producing dates and figs. I worked there for two year before sneaking onto a ship. I had no idea where I was bound but figured anything besides figs would be a welcome change. When I finally escaped the cramped, musty hold of the ship I found myself in what I learned to be London. Right as I walked off the ship, a trashy and somewhat drunk woman in her late '30s spotted me. This women claims I was her long lost nephew, and as I figured a warm meal would be nice I went along with it. Her name was Bernice and she was a prostitute. Not a respectable means of employment but one does what one must to survive. For the next few years I stayed with her, and even started attending school like a normal child. I learned to read and write well enough, but quikcly grew tired of my peers and my unswervingly strict teacher, Mr. Humphries. By now I was 10 years old. I decided that I had had enough education as a young lad like myself would need and started to explore the city. I soon fell in with a rough group of boys. Because I was so young, and a fresh recruit, I started off by simply running errands for them, delivering packages of mysterious products to even more mysterious men in dark trenchcoats.I gradually worked my way through the ranks anyway I could - barroom brawls, backstabbing machiavellian deals, and bribery. I did what I had to. Soon I had my own operation dealing heroin to jaded dockworkers and their trashy housewives. This lead to my first sexual experience when I was 12, when a customer fellated me in exchange for drugs since she had lost her check. Finally, I entered the world of international small arms dealing. With the ethnic conflicts, I realized that there was a tidy profit to be made. But I had no idea how to enter the market. One day I happened to be reading my "9mm Submachineguns Quarterly" when I bumped into one of the men who i had used to run errands for, delivering packages. Amazingly, he remembered me. We soon fell to chatting about our respective trades, and I learned that he had friends in Albania. With his recommendation, I became employed by a group of gun smugglers in Albania. I worked at a small bar, in which, under the guise of a household hand, I took orders for weapons and distributed small arms to local rebel factions. My previous experience with my father aboard ship helped me immensely. One time, however, a deal went sour, and a customer attmepted to rob me of my goods withoutpaying. I was stabbed 14 times with an icepick, beaten over the head with a shovel, and thrown in a river to die. By some incredulous stroke of good luck, my body caught on a piece of driftwood, and I floated out to sea Where my father's ship picked me up! A few weeks of recovering from a coma and battling my injuries ensued, but I turned out alright, apart from a nasty scar across my left eyebrow. My father was of course overjoyed to see me. He told me he had had enough of his piratical lifestyle, and wanted to journey to America. I didn't know much about America besides Kurt Cobain and McDonald's, but went along anyways. My father sailed into Baltimore, secretly sank his boat at night, and collected the insurance money. We lived in a rowhouse for a few years, in which I returned to a normal childhood and forgot my past. But as I grew older, my scar would start to ache, and I longed to return to my life of crime. I knew that I couldn't go back to the drugs and guns of my youth, but realized that I could go back to England. I was accepted to Oxford when I finished up my GED, and have been there for the past two and a half years studying pre-historic architecture of the Netherlands and classical Peruvian flute construction techniques. I have no plans for the future, but hope to return to America to work for the Peruvian ambassador.