As a small child I was hailed as the “miracle child†for slapping the doctor back after he slapped me. But once I got older though I realized that schoolyard tricks wouldn’t be enough to satisfy my audience. So I spent the next few years in the circus, cleaning animal turds and checking barrels to make sure clowns didn’t die in them. My big break came late in my third year. The ringmaster was mauled by a tiger after teasing it with his index finger. I was the only person who could fit into his blood soaked uniform (since he was a midget) and was quickly rushed out on stage to the cheers of thousands of screaming children, most of which were celebrating their birthdays. I didn’t know what I was doing. It was a disaster. Three trapeze artists were killed during a midair collision, and the human cannonball was accidentally fired into the crowd, where he injured several screaming children. Chased by a crowd of freaks and angry parents, me and my trusted elephant Stompy made our way through the country, having adventures too numerous to elaborate on here. During my travels, I learned how to play the harmonica, and became a folk music legend. Many regarded me as the father, mother, son, and estranged uncle of all modern genres of music. I like to think perhaps I dabbled in a few. But I digress.
I returned home to find my father dead, his mouth stuffed full of junkmail and bills to the point of choking. I knew then that I must avenge my father’s death and kill the local postman. Taking several classes in the art of killing, I trained myself to be merciless and cunning, and dreamt every night of exacting my revenge…and creamy yogurt. When the time came I sprung out at the postman, only to find that the postman was in fact a post-woman. I fell in love with her immediately, the way she held that bag, and the pride she took in her minimum wage job made me feel all warm inside. We spent a year in Prague together, each bound to the other by true passion, and thick leather on the weekends. I taught English to schoolchildren to make ends meet, and she delivered the mail and killed people. One day she fell off the side of a cliff. The schoolchildren were the first to find her and came running to tell me what had happened. But their English was so terrible I couldn’t understand them. God I wish I had taught them useful things instead of how to swear.
I returned home to the US a free man. While I was gone the FBI raided my house, burned all my records and stepped on my flowers. Upon arrival, they clubbed me with a blunt object and gave me amnesia. To this day, I do not have any records of these events, save this account, but I am hoping that the face book will help me to recall what happened, and I can begin picking up the pieces of my life.