From Plastic Tub
| Born April 1, 1928, Kansas. Flintrock came in second without pants, wearing a cowboy hat, still smelling of axle grease. A childhood dream, chewing moss. He is a wolf. In the very least, a houndstooth jacket. He receives a fireman's helmet.
As Far As An Eye Can See
Described by Addisson as an "escape pod from a diffident patriarchy", Flintrock endured a troubled childhood characterized by fervent Protestant morality and morbid intellectual repression. His father, a stout Black Irishman prone to extended brooding and drunkeness, loved nothing more than to whip young William's hide on every conceivable occasion and for the slightest of infractions. Although it has been hinted darkly that William killed his father and fed him to the pigs, enough credible, if be-sotted witnesses have come forward to be certain that the elder William ranged about the west until his death from cirrhosis in 1935. William grew up dirt-poor and scrappy. His mother, it has been revealed, helped support the family by renting her sex by the hour. William never knew and wasn't particularly disturbed to find it out late in life. He never looks back, say his friends.
Under the Over: A Fiat
William fought all the time, took to motorcycles and jazz, reefer and nembutals. He joined a gang. Always up for a brawl, he nevertheless showed a tender side which manifested intself in graffitti and in the balletic choreography of his rumbles. He matured early and left the gang. Inspired by Rimbaud, he wanted to turn from rebellion and violence and channel those forces into something productive. His manual dexterity was remarkable. His drawing style, which was always precocious, began to assume a startling power. During the Vietnam War he became quite an impassioned speaker for the invasion of Mexico. Apparently motiated by a desire to be near the people he loved, he gave these wacky diatribes in order to "reverse magical polarities and utelize antagonistic magic." He was into LSD quite heavily at that point. For all the silliness, he remained a forceful writer, an impassioned speaker, yet never shrill. He was almost laconic, and ever cool.
In addition to being a fine poet, polemicist and illustrator, Flintrock is generally acknowledged to be the AA's best welder and handy man. He rigged up the Balloonjaw costume, for example, and was an invaluable presence on many a project, whether it be theater or a hanging. Flint was the guy you could always count on to be there.
He drank heavily, and sometimes a darker shade of Flintrock came across. He could be violent, insulting. Verna Cable once decked him at a party. But for all that he was to be counted upon. He often went with Addisson on Balloonjaw mission as The Chameleon, allegedly.
In the 1980's he reached a zenith of destructive wisdom and bugged out on 5th Avenue. Startled by the allegations of his conscience, he made an abrubt turnabout. He headed west, and after many beers and walks in the desert, he came back to himself. He realized his wolf, so he claimed, and kicked-ass without regret. He remains a hoodlum and wields an axe. His sign is ascendant and his car, as the locals say, is "bitchin'."
He currently has a farm near San Ysidro, New Mexico, where he welds shit, smokes high-quality grass and shoots off guns. He loves to hike and travel. Give 'im a call. As Adid says: "He needs a woman since Lydia left and his bearskin rug is too big for one...." Adid always guffaws heartily after this one.
Young William painted (in beautiful watercolour) the cover of his Grandmother's award winning cookbook.
Flintrock holds 14 patents, including Balloonjaw schematics and accompanying hydraulic skull armature, Project Sausage -- a functional geloscope -- and the Analogy Engine, described as "a power generator fueled by analogy, metaphor, and to a lesser extent, simile."
He was reknowned for his skill at stacking flapjacks.