In this very space, throughout the various and sundry months that I have kept this blog, I’ve written the life stories of all manner of friends, allies, and world leaders past and present.  It just so happens, in case you wist it not, that today happens to be my birthday, and keeping in the festive spirit of the season, I thought I might take this opportunity to tell my own story, the tale of my life, the Legend of Ben, thus far, if you will.  From whence did I come; whither do I go?  Am I still single?  What about monkeys?  Have ye patience, my comrades, all these questions and more shall be answered here today, as I relate to you, the Autobiblography of Ben.

            I was born to the Family Strohm on this very day, 1979.  It is a family known primarily for producing librarians, monkey wranglers, American folk heroes, and other such pillars of our society (sometimes all three at once; an example being my totally awesome grandmother who would never let me say this except for the fact that she never goes online).  After surviving two brief but glorious months of the Carter Administration, I found my way into the magical world that is yet known amongst my people as “The 80s.”  Long did I bask beneath the enlightening glow of a most uncommon mix of killer robots, hammer pants, and Ronald Reagan.  These things, combined with one good wallop of electricity when I was but a very toddler, formed within my very soul the metaphorical weasel of nascent greatness (The Metaphorical Weasel of Nascent Greatness being, after all, a most excellent name for a band).  The turning point of all this occurred when, at the tender age of eight, I left the herds of stegopossums ever tended by my forefathers and went on a wacky pilgrimage road trip to the ancient home of my tribe, the bituminous empire of Pennsylvania.  ‘Twas there that I first saw Bill & Ted’s Excellent adventure, and I knew at that very moment that never again would I want for purpose in my life, so clear did it all appear to me.  And so I returned to Virginia, to bide my time, think about dinosaurs, get sent to the gifted class on the extra long bus, only to return via the retarded class on the short bus (which is, in its entirety, a story for another day altogether), and generally do all the sorts of humble and unassuming things that make it all the more impressive when some years later you go on to conquer the very cosmos itself.  And so I waited on, until about 8^th grade or so, when things just got all wiggety and/or crazy.

            For you see, fabulous secret powers were revealed to me the day I held aloft my magic sword (oh yes, I did have one of those all along) and said, “By the Power of Greyskull!” Or maybe it was a magical fedora, and the words might have been more along the lines of, “Hey Genghis, want a Twinkie?”  Either way, all sorts of crazy sparks flew out of everything, I got a great tan, and my cat started talking like Worf.  This auspicious event, as you may have well gathered, pretty much marked my ascension from socially-debilitating dorkiness, to loveable and kind of cute dorkiness, as well as being a harbinger of my awesome powers to be.

            Enrolling in time, so many titans of my generation have, at Meadowbrook High School and Poorly Disguised Super Hero Academy, I earned numerous honors in Not Doing Any Homework, Squeaking By, Not Getting Any Dates Whatsoever, Having a Bunch of Teachers Who Helped Me Out Anyway, Hurling Lightning Bolts, Smiting The Unrighteous, Latin, Drama, Getting Away with Wearing A Hat After They Banned Such Nonsense, and finally beating out two actual cheerleaders to become President of the student government senior year (though during my administration my cabinet was wracked by dissention and scandal, those who remember it now recall me as a wise and benevolent warlord).

            After this, I went off to college to study Physics, that I might build an infernal device capable of bringing to governments of Earth to their knees, but I sucked at math, and decided to go with more of the undergrad history route to global domination.  I endured the Crucible of A Dozen Psycho Roommates, fell in with a good group of lovable scamps and charming rogues, waged mighty battles against my adversaries by moonlight in single combat, and finally graduated at what was almost certainly last in my class (but hey, so did General Pickett, and look how awesome he turned out).

            Since then, I have done all sorts of awesome things worthy of record in completely separate blogs, and presently bide my time once again, working to build my evil cyberempire from the ground up, both here in the timeless and eternal æther of the internet and here at my diabolical Fortress of Doom (otherwise known as Richmond, the wackiest capital of the Confederacy on Earth).  I presently am involved in any number (one hundred and thirty seven) of fiendish plots to conquer the world, including building a giant catapult, setting things on fire, transforming the ancestral minivan of my forbears into an unstoppable juggernaut, and finding a girl do date who isn’t totally loopy (really, except for the last one, I’m doing pretty well on all fronts mentioned).

            So there you have it, the Saga of Ben, such as it is.  For further updates, please stay tuned to this site, the Emergency Broadcasting Corporation, and any large, dark, metallic, humming retro battleship sort of things that happen to mysteriously appear over downtown.  Until then, be excellent to each other, and party on.