He's a pop culture icon in the making, and we don't know a dang thing about him.

"Mr. Six," the dancing star of Six Flags' new nationwide ad campaign, has lit the country on fire with his unique blend of hip hop moves and pattern baldness. Certainly one of the stranger campaigns to debut in the past decade, the commercial spots feature Mr. Six -- a lanky, "elderly" bald guy in a tuxedo -- rallying everyone he encounters with that infectious, insane little dance of his. There's no explaining the character's popularity, but Six Flags' theme parks are sure to benefit from the association. I mean, when you see an old guy going into spasms, YOU THINK ROLLERCOASTERS.

Commercials seem capable of defining any era. When we reflect on decades past, there's always a few ad spots that perfectly exemplify a particular time's trends and social climate. It's tough to imagine Mr. Six as the cultural icon of this decade, but then, how can one deny it? With several commercials under his belt and an alarming amount of interviews with highly respected broadcast journalists (even though he doesn't speak), Mr. Six's star is only beginning to shine. It's only a matter of time before the old bastards turns up on bedroom posters and mac & cheese boxes.

Of course, part of our intrigue lies in the fact that Mr. Six himself is, thus far, a complete enigma. Conventional wisdom suggests that he's more likely a young, energetic fellow wearing lots of makeup and a bald cap, but Six Flags isn't showing their hand. Not understanding quite who the man is or what he stands for plays a huge part in his popularity, and Six Flags would be wise to keep up the mystique.

Anyone who has seen the ad spots can attest to their odd charm. Except for the 50% who want him dead. We don't know why we love Mr. Six so much, but whenever he turns up on television, it's hard to keep out feet from tapping. Destined to go down in history as one of the advertising greats, the mysterious Mr. Six hasn't even come close to wearing out his welcome. It'll be a good five or six months before television viewers start mapping out his demise.