Scott, The Man, The Myth, The Buccaneer American.

Scott Stokes

Scott was born in 1456 to two sailors (a man and a woman sailor, invitro fertilization technology was lacking in the 1400s) whose names are lost in the shrouds of time and dramatic storytelling. Upon reaching the ripe old age of 5 he was drawn into a rift in space and time and arrived on the moon, just before the dawning of the Second Millennium©. It took him over 3 years to finally climb down to Earth through an ingenious use of body hair, moon dust and an uncanny knowledge of 15th century nautical knots. Now on earth at the age of 21 due to accidental age-accelerating-moon-dust inhalation, Scott began a career as a hobo and moonlighted as an astrophysiscist. In 2025, after rescuing the President of Mars at the botched First Annual Long Term Extraterestrials Reunion (or Falter for short), he managed to single handedly join quantum mechanics with classical physics by utilizing his immense 15th century pirate IQ and some good old fashioned know how. In 2154, at a ripe old age of 207, he invented a time machine which simultaneously transported him back to the year 1984 as an infant and un-re-did all future events he caused. All re-previous quasi-future re-events were wiped from the collective semi-future-conscious, and future events were lost. Scott went generally unknown as either Galactically Renound Space Electorate Savior or Piratical Physicist Genius until the future snapped back to the past on February 12th, 2003. This dramatic transition had the misfortune of occuring on February 13th, 2003 and was completely unnoticed as it had occured yesterday and no one was there now to witness it.

Scott is now living at 15 Treacle Mine Road, Ankh-Morpork, The Discworld, with his two cats, and other assorted aemoeboid life.

Also he's a pirate.

1 × [(4 + 1) ÷ 5] × 4 × (9 − 7) = 4 × (8 − 7) + 4
[email protected]
You know where.
Throwing Rocks at me
I'll probably receive the message but it'll be difficult to reply.

No, I will not sell you my Minecraft account. It's mine. Stop asking.