Renee

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 . . . at the age of twelve I received my first scribe . . . when I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds . . . it was all pretty standard really . . .