Steven was the college dropout who drove his ‘74 International Scout into a ditch less than a block away from home. He married a piece of jailbait and found his driving skills once again put to the test when his pregnant teenage wife’s water suddenly broke.

Babies are notoriously useless creatures. They’re living paperweights, entirely content to eat, drink, poop, and scream. Fortunately, most outgrow that phase and learn additional abilities just in time to become productive citizens.

Steven’s baby never did.

The baby is now a man, a hairy 5’10” bundle of ineptitude. Uncoordinated. Inarticulate. A scrawny, lumbering slob, dressed in clashing colors and sitting at a desk. By powers unknown to scholars and philosophers, he types words and phrases that almost make sense, and his readers are almost convinced that he isn’t a total buffoon.

And so this son of Steven whiles away the hours, represented to all the world by a defective icon and the only name fit to summarize such a tragic lot: uselessness.