Cursed.

Cursed to wander this earth...

Bald, average height, dishwater blue eyes, most of my own teeth. Immortal. Or at least… I haven’t carked it yet. And I’ve been alive since 1908. Maybe my organs are pickled in overproof rum. Or maybe the tiki I picked up from a remote (sunken) Polynesian island has something to do with it.

My story begins in earnest in 1938, on a mission – part archeological, part bootlegging run – down in the South Seas. It was an uneasy time, just before Germany made advances into Czechoslovakia, like walking an electric wire with wet flip-flops on – but frankly, if you were travelled and knew the right people, anything seemed possible.

I’d been running ‘artifacts’ out of Bora Gora in my old seaplane. With my buddy Corky by my side and my trusty mutt Jack, we had a good gig going… and then we were introduced to a contact. A Doctor no less. Keen to keep a low profile, he was looking for a relic purportedly from the lost city of R’lyeh, and required transport, a dashing sidekick and a ready supply of rubbing alcohol. (And no, you can’t drink that stuff, it will literally make you go blind. Literally. Even if you do add a healthy dash of lime and brown sugar. Just don’t).

To cut a long story short:

Seaplane crashes. Jungle high-jinx ensue. Chased by bad guys. Volcanoes, traps, strange unearthly creatures. The good doctor finds his relic. I escape by the skin of my teeth, with a golden(ish) totem as part payment for my services. I say payment. What I mean is, I swiped it just before narrowly avoiding evisceration, perforation and a rather presumptuous unsought expiration. Damn right I was walking away with something!

And that’s when the fun began.

Little did I know the totem I’d acquired harboured the undying spirit of Mia ap Taloau, a raven haired, fiery eyed demigod. Her guardianship transferred with my… ownership. Along with endowing me with a seemingly indefinite life span, I’m able to call upon her knowledge at will. That and an exceedingly good back massage. But only on Tuesdays. If it’s a blood moon. To be honest there seem to be a lot of restrictions and sub-clauses. Look, it’s a good thing most of the time.

Unfortunately, she could do absolutely nothing for my hairline. Oh well. At least I have a Tiki goddess at my beck and call.

Sort of.

My name? It doesn’t matter. But know this, you’ve seen me before. Drinking a test run Mai Tai with Don, catching fish with Hunter down on the Kona coast, or sitting quietly in the corner of the Tiki-Ti during happy hour. And I expect you’ll see me again soon… but for now I’m leaving you in Mia’s capable (yet unnervingly warm) hands.

This site is a manifestation of her earthly powers. Whatever Tiki knowledge you require, she will garner for you. Just make sure you ask nicely.