Poet, philosopher, brave sampler of new foods, professional role model.  Quite allergic to poison oak. His mom thinks he is handsome, even though he has been known to sweat profusely. (He claims that this is just his advanced immune system removing toxins from his body at an alarming rate.)  Loves ping-pong, though not all that good at it.  Believes life gets no better than howling poor renditions of simple songs at roaring bonfires in autumn while rhythmically abusing any instrument, stringed or percussion (or both: we’re looking at you here, banjo) unlucky enough to wander within his reach.  Also thinks hot tubs and dancing to Zydeco music can heal the world—-no offense, Wild Stallions.

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