America doesn't have that many great writers, or rather not Southern Gentleman blessed with wit, humor and a killer mustache and a crisp white suit. Apart from Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn, and person of colour Jim, i was friends with Nichol Tesla and even took part in some of his madcap electrical experiments including sitting in an oscilatting machine which put out high frequency current and an x-ray gun which he tested by firing directly at my brain.
Not saying it had anything to do with it but it sure made my death interesting, allowing me to predict it to the day.
Another friend of mine was former President Ulysses S. Grant and when he went bankrupt by sinking his money into some very dodgy investments i helped him publish his memoirs which made us both millions therefore allowing me to publish Huck Finn and the rest of the stories i became best known for.
Before that i was struggling myself until i hit upon the market of writing dirty stories for men's magazines, or squibs, essentially trashy short stories published in men's magazines with the the most (in)famous called '1601'.
It was so filthy that it wasn't even legal to print it until the overturning of obscenity laws in the 1960's and was a story of a conversation about farting and pubic hair between Francis Bacon, William Shakespeare, and the Queen of England.
As for my death, i said that as i was born within hours of Halley's Comet passing the earth, i would go to the great big steamboat in the sky with it also.
It was as much as a surprise to me when it showed up and hours later i died of a heart attack.
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