|Location||Crouch End, London, United Kingdom|
|Introduction||Despite being known only from a few poorly preserved fossils, scientists have reconstructed me as having been up to four meters tall at the shoulder. My primary feeding mechanism is a series of elongate spiny proboscises (if that's a word) through which I ingest the already digested innards of my enemies. By day, I am usually seen browsing the African savannah in search of new enemies, but at night I don a weasel costume and fight crime under a secret identity that I am not at liberty to divulge here. I hold several dozen postgraduate degrees in the liberal arts, and on several occasions have given my own life that others might live. I am hunted mainly for my beautiful reddish brown pelt, which is prized throughout central and east Asia (which is a shame as I said earlier that I am indiginous to Africa). My ideal job would be work with furry children and underprivileged animals, and my favourite food is mince. My favourite Lego brick is a simple 4x2 plate in classic red, although yellow is nice, too.|
|Interests||dinosaurs, football, food, language, computer programming, protocol standards, biomechanics, family, music, God himself|
|Favorite Movies||Spinal Tap, Jurassic Park, Shrek, Wayne's World, When Harry Met Sally, Terminator 2, Alien, Star Wars, Return of the King|
|Favorite Music||Dar Williams, U2, Paul Simon, Spock's Beard, Blue Oyster Cult, A.C.T, Abba, Delirious?, Beatles, Genesis, Coldplay, it Bites|
|Favorite Books||Dinosaurs: The Encyclopedia|
You have a red jar of cedar chips. Why do moths miss the forest?
Because their aim is lousy.