The Game

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. Some times 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. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds, pretty standard really. At the age of 12 I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen, a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum, it's breathtaking, I suggest you try it. I flip for "Friendster", but now my lid has flipped for "MySpace". I usually go bananas, sometimes I go nuts, but most of the time my lid flips and my brows get raised. And the ultimate goal is to be connected to everyone on "MySpace". So if you'd like, an add would be lovely.And remember, "It's all about the Game, and how you play it; It's all about control and if you can take it; It's all the debt, and if you can pay it; It's all about the pain, and who's gonna make it"."Theres a right way to rock and wrong way to roll, you can just listen to your soul, just remember that life is number one, you can be having so much fun" --Tom Goes to the MayorLayout powered by HOT FreeLayouts