Raised by wild monkeys in the dark jungles south of Boston, Marc knew at an early age that he was destined to be involved in the world of comics. In his tree at night he would sleep clutching his “The Man from Atlantis” comic and dream of a life of wealth and glamour as a comic book artist. He soon began to draw comics, but those dreams were quickly crushed! Apparently, one needs to actually be able to draw to find work as a comic book artist. Dejected, he wandered the lonely, cold, bitter, hungry wastes of rejection, alone and cold and bitter and hungry. Eventually swallowing his pride he moved on to what he thought must surely be a much simpler and mindless task, requiring no talent: Writing Comics!

Fate smiled upon him and he wrote often and poorly!

His destiny fulfilled, Marc was no longer bitter, but something was terribly wrong! He was still cold and lonely and hungry. Surely with his destiny attained he should not suffer so? It was then that he learned, much to his horror, that in order to survive, he needed to earn something called: Money? Apparently, money is given to a person for performing another alien concept: Work?

With no marketable skills, (having spent all of high school and college drawing in his notebooks) Marc entered the world of “I.T.” and was very successful. (For those not in the know: I.T. Pays tidy sums of money for doing little or no work; the only requirement being an ability to quickly rattle off impressive sounding acronyms at high speed while acting annoyed and belligerent.)

Now it’s a little known fact that all comic book artists and writers have prehensile tails. Marc played with his tail incessantly, preparing it, and strengthening in hopes that someday he could still use it in comics. This tail while extremely useful in the artistic process had limited usefulness running a vast and minion filled I.T. department. His tail was constantly getting in the way, and was very uncomfortable stuffed in his pants. Corporate dress codes also frowned upon a “tail door” in slacks and dress pants.

It was his resolution to this issue that forever changed his life. Marc invented “The Touche!” The Touche, the world famous, extremely comfortable, and stylish prehensile tail bag! It was an instant rage in the comics industry. The huge profits made from the sale of millions of Touches propelled him into the realm of the ridiculously comfortably well off.

Thus, continued Marc’s life of luxury. (Seriously sitting in a data center surrounded by your closest friends and family whom you’ve hired, drinking beer is pretty luxurious.) Eventually the all night parties, the women, the booze, and the bon-bons lost their luster. (No, not really, those kinds of things never get old!) Still, his destiny called to him! Now rich and even idler, Marc could finally pursue his dream!

Life as an “ASTRONAUT!” er, writer, um, artist, bah! Whatever!

Marc has to date completed two and a third hours towards his associates in Underwater Basket Weaving. He is not regarded for anything and his novel is gathering dust on his hard drive.