Oh Errol, you swashbuckled your way into my heart and into the pants of ladies the world over. Given, you were from Tasmania but like you, I choose to overlook that truth and look at the more appealing elements of your recondite existence; namely the vast amounts of time that you spent in tights toting large swords, bows, arrows and other phallic instruments of carnage.
His off-screen life made his film escapades seem like child's play. It was a cluster fuck (I wouldn't be surprised if that expression was coined for him as well) of drinking, fighting, boating and teenage mistresses earning him three statuatory rape charges and the phrase "In like Flynn".
His very existence was a scandal.
And he did it all with a pencil moustache.
I don't care. I love him. The man was a fox. His Robin Hood is still the only one that matters. And no man since him has looked that good in green tights.
He was the original bad boy, the Charlie Sheen of the 40's only hotter, smoother, dreamier with more style, questionable substance and much much better facial hair.
I salute you.