Quote:
Originally Posted by Relentless
Nah, ill be walking in front of her (to block all the papparazzi)  |
dude, that is so not cool to talk about papparazzi.
You know the papparazzi killed Sheri's wiener dog, don't you?
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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 fourteena Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is
nothing like a shorn scrotum... it's breathtaking- I highly suggest you try it.
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