| Zewad |
The details of my life are quite inconsequential.. Very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner form Belgium with low-grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen-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. He would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of malaise that geniuses 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 twelve I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum.. it's breathtaking - I suggest you try it.
Austin Powers,.... sorry, but im a fanatic.... i cant get enough of it:stongue: :stongue: :stongue: |
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