Jeff

Where should I begin? My father was a relentlesslyself-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low-grade narcolepsy anda penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen-year-old French prostitutenamed Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink, hewould make outrageous claims, like he invented the question mark. Sometimeshe would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. A sort of general malaise thatonly the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical.Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. IfI was insolent, I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds. Prettystandard, really. At the age of twelve I received my first scribe. At theage of fifteen, a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved mytesticles. There really is nothing like a shawn scrotum. At the age ofeighteen, I went off to evil medical school. From there...