Where do I begin?It was a cold winter morning the day I was born in the summer of 75. My parents, gypsies emigrating from Romania, travelled thousands of miles to New York City for the promise of new life and possibility -- fleeing the persecution of eastern europe only to realize they had never been there. Ah, my parents. Father grew salt in the garden while mother grew insane. Yes, it was a hard life those early years on the farm in Brooklyn. It was hard to gain acceptance. The neighborhood kids would play stickball in the streets while I'd be stuck with my daily chores of polishing my knobs and churning the butter. But I can't complain -- those hard years of planting a work ethic deep in my moral fiber helped me to understand that work was for suckers. Still, with a deep tolerance of my parents' belief in education, I graduated high school and attended the University of Florida -- where my childhood life of agriculture brought me my first bong. Oh, those College years are a bit hazy as I look back, but I'm sure my semester there was worth every penny.With higher education behind me, I turned to the private sector where I am now actively ruining the internet company that has employed me. For the future I look forward to fulfilling the dreams my parents had for me -- to backstab my way up the corporate ladder, marry the woman of my screams, only to divorce her years later and divide up our dogs, cats and 2.5 children. I will fulfill that promise. The promise of America.
Myspacepimper.com
