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GO SOMEWHERE
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At the age of five, I was born into a family of Pirates on the High Seas. These weren’t just any high seas, but High Seas with capital letters. My family was a loving bunch, reveling in work as much as in play. They enjoyed murder and rape as much as the next fellow, but also enjoyed somewhat darker pursuits. Yes, my family was deeply into bake sales. But all of this didn’t come until later! Having just been born, I was at a severe disadvantage to the other five year olds. Not only was I considerably smaller, but I was unable to walk, wield a sword, or aim my urine and feces into the proper receptacles. In kindergarten at Pirate school, I was mocked by the other children. They despised me because I smelled like the poop that I carried in my diaper, and because my crying disrupted nap time very frequently. I was a dismal failure in almost every class. Since sometimes being stupid can be a virtue for pirates, I was not held back in school. I got straight F’s in kindergarten, and was advanced to the next grade with honors. I progressed in this manner through the lower grades, failing my way through virtually everything. The one thing I always excelled at was “Smelling Like Poop.” In the 101 course, I sailed through with no trouble at all. I gave the class very little effort, what effort I did give being plainly evident in my face as I passed large fragments of brown gold through my colon. In 202 and 215, I did equally well, by then having a unique odor that was patently my own. By the time I reached the 400 level, though, I had a problem. I was out of diapers! Yes, I had learned to wipe my own arse, and therefore had to learn the trick of storing feces on my person. Once I had mastered the art of crap-tacking, I was a smell master. My home life was a different story. My parents and I had great fun on board our Pirate ship, the Pretty Miss. Our great pink boat instilled fear into the hearts of all who came near enough to see the Flower Jack flying on our mast! We raped and murdered everybody who we met, and they thanked us for the favor. My parent’s dream was to sail to England and rape and kill the royal family. Alas, it was not to be. One day, we sailed into port in the land of Imaginaryland. My parents got off the boat, ostensibly to wreak havoc and pick up some toilet paper. I was left alone to tend to the boat, no small chore for a six year old who couldn’t walk. I dropped my bottle at some point during the day, and it rolled off the edge of the ship. I crawled after it, and plunged into the sea! The frosty waves bit at my face, and the watery water threatened to swallow me whole. My lungs filled with sea foam, and I was tossed about until I could toss no more. After hours of struggling to stay afloat in the inches-deep water, I blacked out. I came to in the arms of a caring goat tender named Bisquick. He fed me soup and pancakes, and told me about his son who was in America trying to sell some kind of powdered miracle food to the Indians. That’s right, I met the father of Benjamin X. Bisquick, inventor of Bisquick! We talked about pastries and foibles, I told him of my life on the sea as a fearsome pirate, and eventually he agreed to help me find my parents. They were still ashore, presumably looking for supplies to rape and people to buy. After minutes and minutes of searching, we took a break to get something to eat. We saw a sign for a bake sale, and wandered over. He wanted to purchase some cranberry scones, and I wanted to rape and pillage. We approached a table selling small cakes shaped like pirate ships. I looked up at the proprietors of the table, and there, smiling and talking with patrons, were my parents! I couldn’t believe the horrible sight before my eyes. My own parents, bake-sale-junkies. The sight aged me years in only seconds. The constant failure in my classes was terrible for my morale. My family was freaks. I was unpopular and inept. My foibles in class led the other children to shun me. I was an outcast. At the age of nine, weighing only forty pounds, I ran away to the circus….
Stay tuned for Chapter 2 – “A Pirate No More”, or, “A Metaphysical Guide to Self-Pleasure” |