My Bio

The true story of Butch "the Gospel Truth" Carr

Grandpa waiting to get in...

Born behind an outhouse in the tall mountains of South Jersey I quickly became famous for my honesty. At the age of three I once walked 5 miles in a blizzard (up hill) to return 3 cents I had inadvertently overcharged an elderly lady at my fathers vegetable stand and horse betting parlor.

She was so grateful she left me in her will. When she passed away I became the proud owner of a home known as Stately Wayne Manor.
While working in my lab late one night on an atomic experiment I was bitten by a radioactive spider and found I had superpowers. I was faster than a speeding building, I could leap over tall bullets in a single bound and I was more powerful than a Amtrak timetable.

Using my newly found superpowers I donned a mask and processed to clean up lawlessness in the Old Western parts of So. Jersey, with my Indian friend Pronto. He was from Cleveland. A Cleveland Indian.

later on I decided to buy a charter boat, being that So. Jersey has so many waterway, bays and inlets. After hiring a second Mate named Snookie, I took a group out for a three hour tour. We were hit by the Perfect Storm and wound up ship wrecked on an uncharted island.
We where stranded for a considerable amount of time One of my passengers, a Professor MacGyver was able to fashion a radio transmitter out of conch shells, seaweed and old washed ashore beer cans. We where soon rescued by a passing Navy PT Boat Commanded by a Lieutenant Commander Quinton McHale and his wacky crew.


At the time I bought the charter boat I had a few dollars left over form my inheritance so I invested it in what I thought was a fruit company. It was called Apple. Upon returning to civilization I checked on my “Fruit Company” and discovered I was once again a millionaire. So I bought a mansion in Buffalo Wyoming. It has about 90 rooms with a cooking and cleaning staff and full time nursing care. I also have a maintenance crew that keeps the grounds mowed in the summer and plows the snow for me in the winter.
My bucolic mansion is nestled next to the Big Horn Mountains on Rte U.S. 16 about 2 ½ miles west of Buffalo, Wyoming. I call it the “Veterans’ Home of Wyoming”