I lost my wife to an unknown enemy, and then went on a frantic, schizophrenic journey to try to save her that ended up with me in a worse place than when I started. I journeyed across the middle east assassinating all sorts of devious types, then I went to Italy, did roughly the same thing but on a larger scale - and I'm going to continue that trend soon.
After that I went to some far away moon which was lush with diverse wildlife, and found myself assimilated to the native humanoid species and helped them to... harm my own initial species. Don't know why I did that.
I then found myself in an outfit made of my own hair, battling angels for reasons unbeknownst to even me. Stupid amnesia. Following this I was spirited away to the most awesome place in the history of ever, to restore said place to the glory and metal that it once held dear.
Somewhere along the line I went to middle school, went through a series of absurd events - for a middle-schooler - and then fell through the glass ceiling of my principal's office with my former best friend.
I then fought the forces of heaven and the legions of hell in a post-apocalyptic rendition of our current world, which for some reason led me to some place which was relatively unharmed by said apocalypse, but nevertheless was invaded by demons. I then switched bodies with a guy I thought was my nemesis temporarily, only to backtrack my whole way through that adventure, and then revert to my initial body, which was trapped inside a colossal statue.
For some reason I found myself in a mysterious fantasy land. But I soon realized how archetypical and stereotypical it was and just left.
The next place I found myself more than made up for it though. My hair was blonde, my eyes were blue, my musculature made me the size of a house, yet I could move faster than you can blink. I could also shoot energy out of my hands. Awesome.
But of course, I found myself back in another stereotype fantasy land. I swiftly made for the exit on that one also.
I helped fend off a subterranean menace from destroying my homeworld, but it didn't prove very productive in the end because they came back anyway.
I then moved to America. Killed a lot of people, various methods. Stole some stuff. Robbed a bank. Killed some more people... Drove some cars. And then did that twice more.
I played an assortment of instruments for some reason. Nobody who was of any noteworthy reputation gave a damn though because I wasn't very good. But at least I was playing Metallica.
I fought Zombies. ZOMBIES!
Saved the heart of galactic civilization from a several thousand-millenia old menace. Then I found out they had a new, cunning plan. Put a stop to that. Met some new friends along the way, and courted that intriguing girl with the mask. Yes, 'courted'.
After that, I took a trip to the Old West to work for the government in an attempt to see my wife and son again.
Then I went back into outer space, for what, the third, fourth time? And hurled a few soldiers in white plastic armour around effortlessly.
Finally, I discovered my daughter was in fact alive - despite the fact that everyone told me she was dead - and went on some balls-to-the-wall killing spree to find her and stop some stupid government conspiracy that I couldn't care less about.