THE LEGEND OF JAMES L. GRANT
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In 1975, Grant was born on Altus AFB in Oklahoma. His arrival coincided with the touchdown of a F3 tornado that blasted the area, and the locals descended upon his blasphemous parents with pitchforks and torches.
Hounded by the natives, they fled to California two weeks later.
Due to a horrible accident involving a rice picker and three tons of carnuba wax, Grant was orphaned at the tender age of 4. He was raised by a family of squirrels in the San Bernardino National Forest, and still answers to his Squirrelese name of Tuk Nattuktuk Ch'tuk Tuk.
Rescued at the tender age of 18 by a pair of hiking Boy Scouts, he moved to Long Beach and used his mighty knowledge of the forest as a worker at the Texaco oil refinery. He wrote many stories involving trees, acorns, and pine needles, but publishers found his work to be too avant-garde for their tastes. Stephen King once wrote of Grant:
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Squirrels? What the fuck, I ask you? Squirrels? Why not a book about a town called Desperation? Say that gives me an idea....
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Grant eventually signed on with the Texas Foreign Legion at the tender age of 20, and was stationed in Dallas. In his neverending search for delicious, candy-like souls of the unborn, he has lived in Boulder, CO, Fallbrook, CA, and various places in Ry'leh. He currently resides in a North Dallas cave at the tender age of 28 and makes farting noises with his armpits at anyone who comes to close to the pile of bones in front of his lair.