Bob Pearce is currently working on his first collection of poetry for Savant-Garde Press, as well as a catalogue of his paintings. He has been abducted by aliens several times, and is a genetically engineered being who cannot be harmed. Known throughout civilization as the worlds greatest lover, he has remained an eligible bachelor out of a sense of fairness to the women of the world, whose gift from god he is.
    Mr. Pearce has been working on roughly 20 different novels for the past 8 years, but none of them are as of yet complete. The completion of these novels awaits an interpreter who can decipher his handwriting, which is so distinctive and original that learned authorities have questioned whether or not it is english, and have theorized that the handwriting may not even be primate in origin. It is assumed that Mr. Pearce can read his own handwriting, but merely affects not being able to as a way to look mysterious. Some say he simply refuses to translate his writings into legible english out of spite. The writings are good, perhaps even ingenious, but he doesn't want to share them with anyone who is a fucker or a shit. Most of the people in the world are fuckers and shits according to his philosophy, which he quotes often but has never written down, as he would rather deprive the world of his insight than have fuckers and shits walking around pretending they are hip because they have read his work.
    All women who have had sexual intercourse with Mr. Pearce are invited to leave their comments to be used in the forthcoming collection of his paintings, drawings, and graphics work, which will progress much more speedily if the author has something to laugh about. So ladies, keep those cards and letters coming.