The details of my life are quite inconsequential... very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from 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. 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 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 highly suggest you try it.
Originally posted by Ice ColdI guess seeding the tip jar is a bad analogy; do you mean you were 14 when your testicles were shaved, or was Vilma the one at that age? This is not inconsequential at all.
The details of my life are quite inconsequential... very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from 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 c ...[text shortened]... here really is nothing like a shorn scrotum... it's breathtaking- I highly suggest you try it.
Originally posted by ChronicLeakyI won't tell you unless you send me the sum of...One Million Dollars.
I guess seeding the tip jar is a bad analogy; do you mean you were 14 when your testicles were shaved, or was Vilma the one at that age? This is not inconsequential at all.
Originally posted by Ice ColdOMG, Chloe was your Mother? I have a sinking feeling now....😞
The details of my life are quite inconsequential... very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from 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 c ...[text shortened]... here really is nothing like a shorn scrotum... it's breathtaking- I highly suggest you try it.