My life, or something similar

I must confess, I was born at a very early age. So early, I can't remember it too well. I do know, however that I was born in a Hell's Angel's roadside clinic, under a Colombian birth operation (My father was deported, my mother was given drugs, and the nurse did all the screaming). When I was five, my Uncle Ricardo got out of jail, and figured he would teach me how to hunt caribou. He did alright, although I suspect it was a rather unconventional way of doing so. Uncle Ricardo would stalk the caribou for a few minutes, then jump out and scream at it. While it was recoiling, he would tackle it and immediately start slamming its head in the car door and frame he carried around, while continuously asking it "Did I stutter? DID I STUTTER?".

I come to suspect that my parents were rather unorthodox as well. My bath toys were a toaster, a bug lamp and a middle aged Vietnamese man. When I went to preschool, the teacher seemed transfixed with teaching us various religious slang, and before I knew it, I was kicked out of three churches, two temples, and a rock used for meditating.

When I was 12, I entered middle school like all the other children. My parents got a divorce, as my mother claimed that "If daddy leaves the toilet seat up one more time, I gonna' pull the trigger". To this day, I don't understand what she meant. The school I attended had a man nailed to two pieces of wood in the lobby. No, it was not a Christian school. I think the man was the principal, and I'm pretty sure that having 5 pound wooden blocks for ear piercings is anything but enjoyable. Those were dark years.

High school was a little different. I had to walk 18 miles to school every day, and it was uphill both ways. Yes, the school was only a mile away, but I had to walk back and forth nine times, because times were rough then. You see, in the neighborhood I lived in, there was graffiti everywhere. On the sidewalks, the stores, the cars, even on the cops. And for those wondering how the trip was uphill both ways? The school was on the top of a rather large hill, which the house I lived in at the time was built on (It was later turned into a church, which was condemned by the city on Good Friday, and knocked down after the neighborhood kids were killed by a rapist who worked at K-Mart, who was upset that the Wal-Mart exploded, killing 19.5 people)

I didn't hit puberty until 13, where in an attempt to grow me up, my Uncle Blitzen brought me beef jerky and hot sauce. Thanks to the manliness of the foods, I aged 4 years in one night, grew a mustache, a goatee, and Afro and a uni brow. After that, the kids started looking at me in a strange way.

I joined theater in my sophomore year, where I got the lead part in the school play: Coffee And Milf. The theater teacher wrote the script himself. During the play, I was required to do a make out scene, which went relatively well on the night of the play, until it came to light that the lead actress was instead a man (Who was later arrested for unrelated reasons).

I decided to take advantage of the economic boom that was happening at the time (August 4th, 5:00 - 6:30 PM), and started my own business. I would ride around on a pink girls' bike and smash kneecaps for a nominal fee. I later had to shut down thanks to some "red tape" created when I claimed gunshot wounds as tax-deductible.

It was during this time, as I was lying in the ICU in the same Hell's Angel's roadside clinic I was born in. It was during this time that I saw an image of Hell, a religious experience that, to me, was more frightening then Tarja Turunen's solo career.

Hell for me was a simple, tile coated hallway, saturated with dentists' chairs. I was strapped to one of these chairs to the point I was immobile, with bright florescent lights shining down on my face. At first, things seemed rather not unpleasant, until I was approached by a senile lady. Said lady began wailing at me in Spanish, which quickly transitioned to French, which in turn became Kilgon. This continued all through the night until I finally woke up screaming with such intensity, the driver of the mobile clinic confused the sounds for sirens, drove into the forest, crashed the clinic, fatally mauling a bear in a Park Ranger Hat.

While I can honestly say that I cannot complete this story, as my life is not over, I can honestly say that you might expect to see an ending sometime soon, as unless somebody manages to intercept a package accidentally mailed to NBC, the Copper's won't purposefully miss for much longer.