What I do: I was, among many other things, an educator, bouncer, and hooligan in Arkansas. Now I study clinical psychology at a top university in Boston, go on urban (mis)adventures, workout like an utter madman, and fancy myself a writer. 

What I am: I’m a lone wolf. I’m impulsive. I’m obstinate. I’m tempestuous. I’m stony-faced. I’m perceptive. I’m strong. I’m reckless. I’m resilient. I’m self-assured. I’m thick-skinned. I’m articulate. I’m menacing. I’m cynical. I’m cryptic. I’m captious. I’m passionate. I’m insubordinate. I’m empathetic. I’m difficult. I’m fiercely and unapologetically forthright. I’m also an unashamed narcissist and selective prick, as well as a jaded skeptic, misanthropic humanitarian, and detached observer. Ultimately, I like to think of myself as a modern day anti-hero, which is another way of saying that I’m a flawed asshole who occasionally does extraordinary shit. 
What interests me: Mischief, hedonism, dopamine, adrenaline, New French Extremity, films in general, anything zombie-related, brutality in the gym, ergogenic aids, culinary mayhem, raging snowstorms, challenging literature, forensic psychology, true crime, tattoos, binge drinking, nootropics, empathogens, electronic music, photography, martial arts, herbalism, physiology, nutrition, neurochemistry, psychopharmacology, cold water immersion, intermittent fasting, longevity research, WW2 history, quantum physics, artificial intelligence, space travel, surrealism, nihilism, fatalism, solitude, emotionally turbulent women, filthy sex, clean jokes, classy restaurants, decrepit dive bars, pitch-black humor, wittiness, irony, sarcasm, money, death, porn, and Tabasco sauce. 
What I despise: Far too much to list here.
What I believe in: People are generally stupid, and stupidity is frequently dangerous.
What I value: Plausible deniability.
What I hope for: The apocalypse, preferably with zombies.

What keeps me awake at night: Caffeine.

What I wanted to be when I grew up: A soulless ginger.

My hero: Hunter S. Thompson. 

My greatest fear: Being thrown into the Challenger Deep (the ocean’s deepest point) in the midst of a bad acid trip while chained to sinking cinder blocks that will soon yank me seven miles below, into barren blackness.
My ideal first date: Nude hot-tubbing with Michelle Pfeiffer’s character from the 1994 film, Wolf, while eating Philly cheesesteaks, drinking Bloody Mary’s, and watching Predator.

My not-so-ideal first date: Playing naked Twister with Kathy Bates’ character from the 1990 film, Misery, while eating Spam and yogurt sandwiches, drinking castor oil, and watching Sex in the City.
My favorite color: Fifty shades of who gives a fuck.

My most disappointing moment: Discovering the fictitious nature of Santa Claus after determinedly setting elaborate, carrot-based traps to maim his reindeer and ruin Christmas.
My most striking tattoo: A sparkling pink unicorn ridden by a frenzied fox choking a wide-eyed chicken (long story).
My best piece of wisdom: A drunken, coked-up, schizophrenic stripper may suddenly leap over a crowded table at Denny’s for the sole purpose of stabbing you in the neck with a butter knife if you nonchalantly insult her between bites of your pancakes.
My psychology: I suffer from sporadic depression (or, as I prefer to call it, “periodic melancholia”), social anxiety, and obsessive-compulsive disorder, which, while taxing and intermittently hazardous, thankfully provides me with an endless source of comic relief and writing material.

Why this website exists: Taken from my first article, “Back To The Grind,” which thoroughly addresses this issue: “This website will provide me with a platform on which I can combine my studies in psychology and unique understanding of human nature with humor, sarcasm, irony, and absurdism. That process will allow me to ruthlessly dissect the world at large while simultaneously acknowledging and exploring my own demons. Ultimately, my main objective is to provide snarky, poignant, and insightful social commentary via personal anecdotes and observational humor.”

Most importantly: My 7-year-old scalawag of a son (you can find him in the “Photos” section) is an unparalleled cat named Hellwood.