Childhood Memories

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.

* bump *I accidentally came across this thread while I was trying to see how often I'd used the word "shorn" (because the spell-check on firefox doesn't think it's a word).Anyway, this stuff is interesting apart from the last few posts where someone tried to troll the thread, and my own post where I was obviously lying. Many of the posters aren't current any more, so would any of our present members like to contribute?

Whatever you think the word "flimsy" means, you are evidently wrong. Really, what do you think it means?I have my own reasons for not talking about my own childhood, which I trust that you will respect. In the meantime I would like to know what a normal childhood is like. No-one is forced to answer.

You actually had me all the way through the first sentence.

I must confess that I stood at a loss, as though you had described my wit as being pale yellow or in the key of A flat minor.

Really? You think that jar was just taking the piss? But clearly in a very very subtle way.

Well then I could certainly have cut you (verbally) into thin slices and suffered no moral qualms.

Ah, right.Thanks.* makes note to self always to read the small print *

Your narrative gets progressively less and less plausible until eventually you reach the point where you claim to be "the funniest poster ever". I think we all know that that is in fact me.

...Edited by Dr Adequate, : No reason given.

No. No I don't. Not a clue. You would scarcely believe how very very very little I know about the biographies of rap stars. "The Notorious B.I.G." is right up at the top of my list of people I don't know anything about and couldn't care less.