Where do I start.



I’ve got things to tell you, Internet.  Things you may, or may not be suprised to hear.

It’s love, kids.


5 responses »

  1. Very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie from Belgium with low-grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a 15 year old French prostitute named Chloe’ with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink, he would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical – summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring, we’d make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds pretty standard, really. At the age of 12 I received my first scribe. At the age of 14 an austrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles – there really is nothing like a shorn scrotum – it’s breathtaking…I suggest you try it.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s