He was a Master of Masters and a blessing upon mankind. And then some.
He had walked the earth as Hunter S Thompson, Lord Denning, the Marquis de Sade, Randolph Carter and Che Guavara. Probably not in that order, though.
He could speak 17 languages, juggle cantaloupes with his toes, conjure forth live budgerigars with a wave of his fingers and whistle the entire works of Ludwig Van Beethoven without breaking a sweat or collapsing from shear boredom.
He had fought in wars, swam every ocean in the world, hopped across entire continents with his feet in handcuffs and once spent forty days and forty nights in the middle of the Sahara desert in yellow fishing waders and a metal trilby just to win a bet with David Blaine.
He has escaped a bottomless pit using nothing but a length of dental floss and a hypnotised hamster, tamed a griffin with the power of suggestion, become a Twentieth Dan Master of the ancient art of Po Keeni at the humble age of 13 and single handedly ended the Cold war with his unmatched powers of blackmail (his accomplishments were thusly stolen by Reagan, who took much of the credit).
He held the ears of Monarchs and Maharajahs, Fuhrers and Fatcats, Pharohs and Princes. From the mighty rich to the humble poor, no one was unworthy of his time or favour.
He sold his soul for rock'n'roll, made love to a thousand godesses, earned and blew at least seven fourtunes, travelled to worlds beyond our universe and stared into the eyes of the Maker of us all.
His name is Andrew 'DC' Marshall, also known as the Deviant Gentleman. Scholar, dreamer and seeker of that which is known as 'ultimate truth'.