A master of disquise, Prestorjon may be hiding in the shadows anywhere. After being trained by an ancient organization of assassins from Dayton Ohio, he went on to build a space elevator using nothing but one of his stray pubic hairs, but after a tribe of Catholic Space Muslims destroyed his pastry oven, he decided that the space elevator was far too dangerous for the puny inhabitants of planet earth.

After curing AIDS by looking at it angrily, and Cancer by killing a rainbow with his bare hands, he joined a monastery to clear his mind and seek spiritual enlightenment.

Currently he lives in Space vegas with his seven formerly lesbian (no one is safe from his magnetism) wives and an army of indestructible giant robots he made out of nothing more than macaroni and cheetos. He is currently writing his memoirs, but sadly has not been able to find a computer that doesn't try to molest him while he writes it.

In his spare time, he enjoys macrame, strangling pagan gods with thought beams, necromancy, creating a line of seasonings, and distilling dreams into BBQ sauce for moon dragons.

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