I have a large penis and a vintage 70's LED calculator collection. What else do you need to know?
the man behind the madness
Findsomethingandburnit.com 2004-2020. Doc J.Vicious & Murph-O-Minion enterprises. Godfrey, ON.
Content may be used on the condition that the original author be clearly credited.
Last updated Mar 7, 2019.
"To understand who he was, you have to
go back to another time..." (Leader of the
great Northern Tribe.)
I had been avoiding this page for quite some
time because I really had no idea what to say
about myself that would be of any interest, or
more importantly appropriate to share, with the
random visitors that happened upon my
humble little corner of the Internet.

The original purpose of this site was twofold: I
wanted to document my various projects, in
particular the DARPA Grand Challenge robotic
truck, in a kind of funky prime time nonchalant
format that would be equally interesting to the
technical and non-technical reader alike and
(hopefully) generate a following that I could
shamelessly exploit for future trade or
commerce.

The second reason was simply to have some
bandwidth to post schematics and diagrams for
the members of the Dutchforce Electronics
Forum where I moderate as the apparently
brilliant electro-god "Jim the copier wrench".

Originally I had thought that I'd have some time
to tinker around with the content and layout
before anyone ever saw it, but Find something
and burn it logged an incredible 800 hits in it's
first month of existence. Although light years
away from being in the same league as
Brittany's quim, I was still surprised that I was
able to generate such interest even if the
majority of that interest was probably due to
my friends checking things out. Today,
although far from complete, my site seems to
have found a small but faithful following
watching my total lack of progress.

Yet the question remains. What should I reveal
about myself? Not that I'm overly concerned
with the judgement of others, but if in fact I do
ever intend to generate any business thorough
this site I probably shouldn't paste photos of
my genitals all over the page. Or perhaps I
should.

Although I'm certainly not so vain as to believe
that a poorly written novella about myself will
hold anyone's attention or interest for very
long, as someone who has been thoroughly
misunderstood from age five, I feel that the sum
of the bare biographic elements of my
existence to date do not accurately reflect the
whole person that I have become.

I've always found that when I read of the lives
of others that the account seems to be lacking
something dimensional about who that person
really was. For all of the intricacies of the
written language, it's still quite useless for
articulating the soul in the second person.
Poets attempting to pen the elaborateness of love
have been confounded for millennia - and
finally, in my opinion have simply invoked the
concept of the metaphor in defeat. I cannot in
words even adequately describe the special and
unique personalities of my long dead cats Baz
and Rex. Google will return 1,710,000 results for
Albert Einstein. Nearly all will reiterate his role
as the author of the theory of relativity, but
what would really interest me is knowing if he
liked "doggy style". Perhaps I'm just bent in this
regard, or perhaps this stems from a total lack of
being impressed by academic accomplishment.
After all, we're all made of meat at the end of the
day.

So who am I then? Well, I'm James Peter
Tyson. Son, brother, former husband,
a felon with 109 convictions, genius, geek, mad
scientist, deep thinker, dreamer, lover, and class
clown. Bigger than life and twice as ugly. A
conundrum: A spiritual atheist, a biker nerd, a
pacifist bad assed mother fucker. A health
conscious trans fat junkie. I love to eat, drink,
smoke, sing, and fuck to excess. I like porn and
technical journals. I can cook but I don't, Shrek
made me cry, and although I can fix absolutely
anything, everything that I own is always broken.

The point being, that these other facets of my
life are as much (if not more) a part of me than
any technical prowess, knowledge, or aptitude
that I allegedly possess. I may eat and sleep
machines but there is so much more to me
than engineering. With that said, a quick
paragraph on how it all began.

Once upon a time when men with names like
Hunter Thompson, Ken Keysey, and Timothy
Leary reigned as pop culture icons, a wailing
7-1/2 pound pink Satan spawn was shat upon
this pudding scum of marginally solid rock that
we refer to as the Earth's crust. Once there, it
quickly developed into a serious pain in the
ass child on a mission to drive it's teen aged
mother insane by using various methods of
psychological warfare. The spawn was also
considered a dummy by most because it
refused to learn anything in school, refused to
acknowledge authority of any kind, lit a lot of
fires, and disassembled anything that it could
get it's dirty little mittens on. My early life was
quite interesting to say the least.

I grew up in a "working class" neighbourhood;
simply a kinder name for the Irish/Italian low
rent shit burgh part of town where the elite
men aspired to be drywall tapers and the
women to early pregnancy. With a lack of
desire to sniff glue with the cool crowd, an
interest in books, a Bryll Cream hairdo,
and an unfortunate growth rate that guaranteed
that my pants were always too short, I stuck
out like Liberace at a Teamster's picket. My
happy adolescent nick-name was "Flood Fag",
so although getting laid was totally out of the
question, I certainly learned how to fight.

As a small child I was able to grasp mechanical
concepts very quickly. Thank you Reg Richards,
my Grandfather, for the DNA. I quickly realized
that all machines regardless of their complexity all
break down into simple components. At age 7 I
began devouring The Radio Amateur's
Handbook and any other electronics publication
that I could get my hands on and started
tinkering with electronics, first learning basic
electricity, then series and parallel circuits and
component types and usage.

In my early adolescent years while a ward of
the province (an unfortunate consequence of
teaching myself how to pick locks and hot wire
cars among other things) I taught myself
computer programming on a Commodore PET
2001. At 13 I mastered digital logic circuits and
started modifying the computers of the era. I
send a warm thanks and a very wet kiss to
Jane Powell, my teacher (and secret crush) at
Syl-Apps who probably put her incredibly
shapely ass on the line for letting me open up
the (at the time brutally expensive) Apple 2e's.

I suppose I'm a bit of a savant. If something
interests me I can master it quickly. Given a
pad of paper I'll clearly explain how a
helicopter works, the life of a star, or why time
travel is impossible. However balancing my
bank account or finding a matched pair of
socks seems to truly baffle me. Go figure.

To this day although I've never completed
elementary school I've never found this to be
an obstacle in my professional life. Most
people just assume that I hold an engineering
degree.

These days besides my position as head geek
at E.O.E. Konica-Minolta and refitting the
owner's 60 foot sail boat the Axion Esti for her
upcoming transatlantic voyage, I like to screw
around and invent things, tinker, blow shit up,
or work on "my shit" as I like to call it.

My shit includes projects such as an
autonomous - and armed - robotic postal van
from hell, a really cool tracking telescope that
listens as well as looks, a microwave pain field
security system, a car mounted speed graffiti
device for tagging the highways at 100 Km/h,
stretching my motorcycle to accept a Mazda
automobile engine, and a few hundred smaller
projects including trying to renovate my house,
building this site, and finding out if infrasonic
frequencies can actually intensify the female
orgasm.

Soon I'll take the time to outline all of my
projects future and in progress on a dedicated
page as time permits.

Besides electronics and things that consume
copious amounts of fuel, I'm also into
astronomy, astrophysics, dogs, cats, old tube
stuff, natural redheads with freckled tits,
singing (now and again), reading, beer, lifting
heavy things, being naked, driving in reverse
at high speed, making people laugh, ass-ugly
rat bikes, Jameson Irish whiskey - hold the
water please, and spending the night in the
middle of nowhere watching the stars.

Some personal shit about me: My favourite
authors are Prof. John Gribbin and Prof. Paul
Davies (non-fiction theoretical and relativistic
physics) and Stephen King (fiction). My
favourite all time book is probably The Stand
but it's hard to only have one favourite. I also
had a secret shame author (Jack Axler) who
wrote a terrible post-apocalyptic pulp fiction
series of which I'm missing several, have
outgrown anyway, but would still buy if I saw
them at the local Value Village. For movies I
generally like Chick Flicks, recent favorites
being The Hours and Big Fish.  

What else can I say? This isn't a site about me,
it's about what I'm building. This was simply
intended to give you a little insight into the mad
bastard at the other end of the wrench. Enjoy
the project buildups as they get underway, and
check out the project diary to see what's
holding them up.

"Howlin' Mad" Jim Tyson - October 2006.
Legacy content from FSABI c. 2006.
2019: The morning is a crisp minus 23, although clear
and sunny this eighth day of March as I sit at my
computer in Godfrey Ontario with a cup of bourbon,
looking out over the ice on our private pond lined with
snow covered evergreens. A beautiful scene on a lovely
day - more so because I'm playing hooky from work.

The Beast - my postal truck, sits just within my view. A
few months ago, jonesing for an electronics fix, I quickly
tossed together a plywood bench in her rear. Later
today i will go out and play with lasers on it. I love lasers.

Pew-pew.

In the front yard sits my school bus. True - for the
moment immobile with a fuxored transmission and
missing the majority of it's floor plating, but every one of
her forty feet are all mine; a dream harboured for
decades, now a reality.

Four wonderful dogs and a cat are scattered about the
room where I sit, after the initial excited ass swinging
greets and kisses, all having passed out again,
presumably just content to be in the same room as
daddy. Later we will all walk a few kilometers up the
pond ice. Murphy will be allowed to play with his special
"noisy" toy, Trevva her Chuckit ball, and seeing them
happy will make me smile, although no one will be there
to see it.

I don't particularly enjoy my job anymore - there's no
longer a challenge, but I clear better than a thousand
per week and one of the owners has great tits. This
summer I will take a two or three month leave to tinker
about the place and play with my bus.

There is hot water in the water heater, bacon in the
fridge, whiskey in the freezer, and a pack of cigars
beside my laptop.

Aside from 8-1/2 years remaining before I'm legally
allowed to use a knife to cut my steak, the man no
longer chains binding me.

Although I'm far too fat, long overdue for a dental
cleaning, tend towards ingrown toenails, and have
become a decidedly perverted creepy old fuck, to my
knowledge I'm not immediately dying of anything.

What a day. What a lovely day.

All of my problems are first world, the cancellation of
Mythbusters and TNG, and perhaps how to convince
neo-Nazis that refocusing on Beliebers might in fact be a
worthwhile cause at the top of the list.

Although the last eleven years of my life (as well as the
first twenty-two) have seemingly been utter shit -
incarceration, the loss of my house, shop, and several
hundred thousand dollars worth of tools and kit, I've
always been a glass half full kind of guy.

I am where I belong. Where I want to be - perhaps even
where I need to be, and the future looks absolutely
brilliant. Does it even matter how I came to be here?

This after a rudimentary head shake. I do have reasons
to be angry, perhaps even valid ones. Angry at myself
as well as others. But what would be the point?

I do occasionally still go to that dark place where I feel
compelled to publicly out every mother fucker from my
piece of shit dead mother, to the babysitter who liked
little boys, a particular (so called) government
subsidized "group home" where children were forced
into bare knuckle combat for food, or the perpetually
entitled pedestrian cunt who reported that I abuse and
kill my animals.

Each and every having failed to transform me into an
unhappy person.

This is my biography. My manifesto:

I remain the eternally happy barktard - the Golden
Retriever of humanity. With his favorite rubber squishy
ball.

My absolute coffin nail toughness not in fact a metric
secured as the 1985 Don Jail 4A-North bare knuckle
champion, but by being an unwavering and utterly
resilient happy man by default, regardless of any shit
sandwich on the day's lunch menu. Though to be
certain, the odd grimace while noshing, but those
moments do pass.

A recollection of my ex wife once commenting that I
always land on my feet. Believe it boyo.

The chain of events that brought me here are
unimportant. I
am here, and so long as I am - I'm going
to do
SCIENCE and giggle like a school girl while I'm
doing it.

Perhaps not so much of a biography as a mission
statement? Hey, I can roll with that.

A biography then: I've watched C-beams glitter in the
dark near the Tannhäuser Gate.. Oh wait, that was
someone else.

I have however, survived things that would have broken
a lesser man, but I am not a lesser man. So let's go
have some totally inappropriate and possibly illegal
fucking fun!

This is who I am. Who I have always been.

I am the man who will insert a dog toy squeak
mechanism into his rectum as Skynet reigns down
nuclear terror, just to make a funny fart.

In 1986 I stole a rusty 1974 Chrysler, repaired the body,  
and returned it to the owner's driveway in the middle of
the night - keys in the mail slot.

I fashion myself as the last of the gentlemen pyrates. Be
this true or nay .. Arrr.

There are far worse things to be when you grow up. If
you grow up.

I love my pets, not so much people. I am however a
fiercely loyal friend - if I consider you a friend. I am bat
shit paranoid delusional crazy, but I always say what I
mean.

I love to play with 70's and 80's tech. 8 bit computers
and top loading VTR's.

I love to explore sewers and subway tunnels, opening
locked nondescript doors in search of secret alien
bunkers and nefarious technology - to date having only
discovered pumping equipment not the slightest of
deterrents.

I hope to one day see a big old
bona-fide mushroom
cloud rising in the distance, the fall of humanity, and
scavenge the remnants of civilization in a decked out
post apocalyptic bus full of dogs.

I am just me.
Freakin' PUPPIES, man!  I am not a complicated individual. I love
puppies and buses and bacon and tits and electronics!
Sometimes we drive a big truck. We like trucks.
I like to smoke cigars.
I like winter on the pond with my beautiful dog.
Whatever the hell "this" is.. I really like that too.