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R. J. Fallon. The man, the myth, the legend. The good, the bad and the ugly. Or, you know... me.
But, honestly, what more can you say about a self-made millionaire whose ruggedly handsome good looks and devastatingly irresistible charm, whose former accolades in the 2008 Winter Olympics has already made him a household name and earned him an army of rabid fans? Well, honestly, I wouldn't know, because I've never met that guy. Me, I'd be that amusing writer chap whose oddly engaging sense of humor was mixed with a study of myth and social anthropology in an arcane laboratory hidden deep within the Carpathian mountains; I should probably throw in here a reference to the scientists in question being struck by lightning or something, but since you're probably already heavily in the "rolling your eyes" camp, I'll just leave it there.
My unavoidably twisted sense of humor (anyone who's had two or more drinks with me will swear by this) had no choice but to make its way onto the written page; and my appreciation for the sensual and the erotic gave it soil to grow in.
Meanwhile, come track me down next time you find yourself in the Portland area; buy me a beer and I'll tell you a tale.