MY REAL AUTOBIOGRAPHY (v.3)
Before talking about my extraordinary dominance over everybody else in every possible activity, including horseshoes, I might as well start right out and tell you that I am the best golfer in California. Having settled that to your complete satisfaction, you now have a basis for understanding whom the hell you are dealing with and how to interpret my following remarks.

I am a 69-year-old retired camp cook. I spent 30 years in those wilderness camps, all over Alaska and Montana but never did get those beans and sourdough bread just right. After giving up on that dodge, I took up the writing game in newspapers and such.

That artistic writing endeavor withstood close inspection by astounded experts and to this day my boyhood chums are trying to figure out how I rose so high when their careers fell in the ditch and they are to this day miserable failures. Especially Freddy and Miles.

I'm on the net every day, maintaining correspondence with various odd balls and other family members.

My worst experience on the net was the time some character I had offended with a remark about his tree-swinging forebears mail-bombed me with subscriptions to over four thousand publications, from coon hunting to rock-polishing and earth worms in your garden. It took me a week to get out of that mess. I finally had to get a new email address.