Winston Roberts was born in a small log cabin, the son of immigrant Lithuanian haberdashers.  Being the son of a haberdasher, however, was even worse.  Not being able to leave the house unless well-dressed (always with coat and tie) gave the bullies a tool for their tortures. 
After his schooling, Win sold himself into the indentured servitude that the modern slave trade euphemistically calls 'working for a living'.  Fun fact:  this phrase, working for a living, when translated into ancient Sumerian, renders 'make the boss guy richer'.  Translated from ancient Tartessian it means, 'the boss needs to make a payment on his Bentley'.

Years upon years of that servitude inspired an epiphany in the young man.  While he would never say the word, epiphany, aloud in public (it just sounds naughty), the experience changed Win, and some say for the better.  Others are not so sure, but what do they know anyway?

What can we say about good old Winston, or Win as his friends call him, that hasn't already been said.  The term 'bio' refers to 'biography', which in the Greek connotes to a description of life, or a record or account of a life.  While most would count Win Roberts as alive, there are few who would call him to account.  Accountants might, but let's not dwell on what a man might or might not weigh in the great weighing scale of life.

Win strives like most people to live in the soft creamy middle of life.  That's where all the good stuff is - for proof consider the walnut.  The walnut tree forms a hard shell around its kernel or seed to protect it from harm.  It knows full well the creamy middle of the construction is what is prized.  Both for itself and for any hungry squirrels that might happen by. 

            Consider the walnut, friends.  Consider the walnut.

So, thus will end the bio of one Win(ston) Roberts.  A man of mystery.  A man given to understated hyperbole.  A man who, when the chips are down, makes walnut butter.