Sup. My name is Dirk.
And holy s**t do I love Puppets.
I possess the extreme dexterity to operate my false friends unseen, that is, when they are not pre-ambulatory through my lovingly imbued mechanization. I dig writing cognitive algorithms for said apocryphal men, and I think maybe that's ********' dope. Guess what else is dope? Everything else I do. I'm a sickwicked autodidact on ancient civilizations, a selfmade master of mythologue, and a preternatural popculture academe.
If I wasn't so "damn aloof" and actually let people get a load, I might get described all kindsa ways. Maybe tagged as a renaissance ninja, philosopher prince, and flashstep puppeteer. Or perhaps a pantheonic ironicist, gangsta logician, lucid waker, and dersite spy. Screw descriptors though, as if the s**t's I give ain't nil. I'm cool in dabbling in the fine sequential arts, and my work could be viewed by some as borderline pornographic. And to those philistines, what the ******** do you mean borderline?
Against the better judgement of one my age, I build robots, set them to kill mode (ironic, right.), and spar with them to death. That is, when I'm not sendifcating them to friends or dueling with them with rap lyrics. But I try to cool it on the deathmatch stuff when my bro is looking, which is virtually never. And considering he's had a reputation staked on some order of martial nobility, this strikes me as a staggering oversight in brotherly vigilance. I don't have the heart to hold it against him, though.