Clutch Master Rocketship

Where should I begin? The details of my life are quite inconsequential. 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 Frence 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. A 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 would make meat helmets. If 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 fifteen, a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum and I highly recommend it.