I'm just your average run-of-the-mill guy, I suppose. I get my kicks by targeting a stranger randomly from a phone book, stalking them, and assimilating everything they do and think into my personality. Such projects are time-consuming, of course, and I have often spent entire years on single "clients" (as I call them). I am never violent towards my clients; indeed, I often buy them flowers and pleasant things to eat. If things go well, then I eventually end up being able to think what my current client is thinking before they do. This brings me to the crux of the exercise, which is the habit I have of following my client wherever they go and shouting out their thoughts in the third person at the exact moment they think them. Of course, this is very disconcerting to my clients, and they frequently become delusional and need psychiatric help of some kind.
Physically I am nothing special, either: I stand a little over seven feet tall, a fiery mane of red hair obscuring the more delicate of my facial features, my single remaining arm twitching constantly at my side as a result of nerve damage during early childhood. I am broad shouldered and immensely fat in the stomach, weighing somewhere in the region of twenty-two stone. I am followed everywhere I go by my faithful mouse, Lenin, who is my best friend in the whole of existence, my one, my all, my everything, silver-furred and wet-nosed, we share many intimacies that this world would perhaps frown on.
I spend my days working in the local fish farm, where I teach baby fishlings how to swim. My nights are occupied with my military studies and my overiding passion for disco.
On the rare occasions when these exhausting pursuits leave me any free time, I like to spend it in the writing of fiction, examples of which you can find here on Smashwords. In theory, I have at least seven full-blown novels in the work; the optimist in me declaims loudly that at least one will be finished by the time the Internet is superseded.