Very well, where do I begin? My father was a Rocketman Under My Umbrella Shirt relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low-grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. 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. At the age of 12, I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen, a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles.
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There really is nothing like a Rocketman Under My Umbrella Shirt shorn scrotum, it’s breathtaking, I suggest you try it. It was crushing. 0/10 would not buy again. I have around 8 scars all over my neck back chest and stomach of lifesaving heart intestine and airway surgeries performed on me and have missing areas of my ribs because they took parts of it to strengthen my throat and sometimes I have pain from my ribs stabbing me. I was born 2 months before my mom’s due date. But hey I’m happy and healthy so fuckin a.
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