Rusty is a ladies' man who knows how to treat them right.

Rusty doesn't wear his heart on his sleeve--he holds it out in his open palm, where the ladies can just grab hold and never let go. For a fifty-year-old plus man, he does pretty well, too.

Everywhere he goes he brings his little suitcase of nutrition. He's a vitamin freak, and carries a veritable pharmacy of potent supplements literally at arms length. The sound of Rusty swallowing his pills is a constant, if unpleasant, reminder of what lengths people will go to to preserve their youth.

Rusty's collection of custom body oils is legendary. He mixes his own special formulation, perfected, he claims, by years of experimentation and careful scientific study. His home lab is well-equipped, although several years ago a vat of camphor exploded, inadvertently mixing with a nearby container of mothballs. He says this resulted in a breakthrough discovery, and he has applied for a patent for this special "love formula".

As far work goes, Rusty isn't overly concerned. His formal title is Analyst, but truth be told, the only thing he's analyzing is the next pretty lady, and the formula that will melt her ice. 

Rusty's Journal

Day One

I'm Getting low on Ginko, but that's okay, because the Goldenseal has been giving me trouble with my bowels lately, and I was wanting to back off a bit.

I saw that WalMart is having a sale on B complex. This is good, because my regular vendor is getting testy about the bulk discount. The heck with them. I'm switching to WalMart.

Rumor mill has been running full speed. My coworkers are apparently jealous of my popularity with the women, and have been dissing me in absentia. That's okay, man. I just do my thing.

When I go public with my new formula, they can all kiss my....