Writing about yourself is an ugly thing to do; it’s a soulless kind of masturbation usually enjoyed by cheaters, suicide bombers, talk show hosts, and actors turned musicians.

Says the writer. Says the guy with the fancy blog.

Well forget about all of that, Jack. We’re not about to start splitting hairs now. This is serious business. Here’s an honest and gruesome FAQ that will tell you everything you never wanted to know about yours truly, and shine a dim light on the gonzo action that runs rampant in the Broken Beard universe.

Ok, what’s the deal with this site?

Well, I wrote a book and needed a place to sell it. I also wanted to showcase my writing abilities, such as they are. Oh, it’s also a den of subculture madness and righteous truth, what with the rock n’ roll, movies, art, politics, and all the rest. Or at least I hope it will be. C’mon in and grab a beer.

Why do you write?

For money, obviously.

What does your chin look like?

Like lightning.

What’s wrong with liking things that are on the radio?

One time I set my beer down on top of the radio so I could see how good my beard looked in the mirror. Then I picked the beer back up and pounded it. That beer was the best thing that has ever been on the radio.

When did you first realize you wanted to write about bands no one has ever heard of?

I actually write about bands that awesome people have heard of. The real question is: Are you awesome?

Are you a wizard?

Uh, do wizards have beards?

What’s your favourite smell?

My wife.

Has there ever been a time when you didn’t think going out and having a beer and listening to tunes was a good idea?

No. Next.

What’s your least favourite colour and why?

To quote a novelty t-shirt, “I’m only wearing black until they make something darker.” So I guess my least favourite colour would be black.

What is your favourite piece of furniture you own?

I don’t own any furniture. I never sleep and sitting is for dogs and old ladies. Besides, it’s hard to hit the road on a whim with an armoire strapped to your back.

What was your life like when you were 10? 14? 18?

The same as it is now, but with varying beard length and bushiness.

When rock n’ roll dies, will it be with a sonic boom or just a sad, unanswered Craigslist ad looking for a drummer?

The best drummers are found in the gutter and rock n’ roll will never die.

In Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs: A Low Culture Manifesto, Chuck Klosterman offers the following scenario: For reasons that cannot be explained, cats can suddenly read at a twelfth-grade level. They can’t talk and they can’t write, but they can read silently and understand the text. Many cats love this new skill, because they now have something to do all day while they lay around the house; however, a few cats become depressed, because reading forces them to realize the limitations of their existence (not to mention the utter frustration of being unable to express themselves). This being the case, do you think the average cat would enjoy Garfield, or would cats find this cartoon to be an insulting caricature?

I’m not even sure they’d find Peter Criss amusing.

How much are clothes in the Shire?

Bring me a stout mug of ale and a tasty wench, for I am weary from battle and my blade is heavy with the blood of my enemies, and let me rest for a fortnight. Then, and only then, will your query be answered.

Is soup your beard’s kryptonite?

That’s a terrible myth. We spend far too much time in soup kitchens for that to be true.

Did you ever make mixed tapes for girls you wanted to bang?

Actually, I made mixed tapes for girls I did bang, as nice parting gifts for those who played the game well.

Do you feel that you possess the psychological readiness to take the life of another human in the defense of an innocent person whom you have never met, if the situation were to arise today?

I’m not eve sure I possess the psychological readiness to process this heavy question. So, yes.

Is it hard getting up every day knowing you’re more awesome than everyone else you’re going to meet that day?

We’re all brothers and sisters, aren’t we? Equally awesome in our own way? I think so. I’m just a man with a majestic beard and epic rock n’ roll habits. Nothing more.

And so much for all of that. If you have your own twisted questions or you want to discuss the finer points of the ‘three albums and out’ rule or you would like to recommend a book that you think might be better than Trout Fishing in America, shake me down here.

Dig.