As it turns out, I grew up in a Mormon compound in Sausalito, California. But wait, it gets better -- I was abducted by a sterile woman in a shopping mall in Reseda and raised under the name of "Sponge Bob" from the ages of 9-13. Sounds crazy, right?
Well, get a load of this -- after I was repatriated to my real family, I ran away from home to Tucson, then Galveston, then Laredo, and finally St. Louis, all the while buying and selling drugs. Also, I managed to act as a coyote, smuggling and snuggling hundreds if not thousands of Mexican immigrants from Juarez, Mexico, into America. Afterwards, I finally managed to get some peace and quiet in Gainesville, Florida. But that didn't last very long.
I was forced into sexual slavery by an Croat pimp named Darkan, and survived the diciest 16 months of my life as I was forced to sell my ass on the street and in flophouses (like the one pictured above) to conventioneers and Shriners in the greater Orlando metro area.
After stabbing Darkan in the neck with a sharpened Twizzler, I escaped with only the mesh ball-cap on my head and a tube of Chapstick to Montclair, New Jersey, where a new chapter of my life began. You see, I had to recover from a debilitating addiction to cough drops, rum punch, ScotchGard, SueBee Bit O'Honeys, Crunchberries, Murphy's Oil Soap, Magic Shell, black Kiwi shoe polish, and yogurt. I found my spirit nurtured by the soothing practice of teaching humility to bears (as portrayed on canvas above in tempura and lamb feces) by my fellow commune-sister Moonbeam Daffodil Blatzstein.
But searing tragedy struck again, when I was on sabbatical in New York City just 15 months later and was accosted by the last known man on earth wearing an 8-ball leather jacket. I was forced into an all-Jamaican breakdancing posse, backspinning my way through most of the 1990s in a blur of parks, sidewalks and buffet breakfasts. If it wasn't for the incredible kindness of Pope John Paul Gandhi, I might never have escaped with my soul -- or Adidas shell-toes -- intact.
After I bid farewell to Adnan Kashoggi Gandhi, or whatever his name was, I opened a small bed-and-breakfast in a Polynesian lava flow -- and believe it or not, it was shut down by the Board of Health, not by any lack of patrons. Go figure.
Well, life these days is a lot more boring now than it used to be, for sure -- I have a very quiet life with my wife, three cats, and a job in a UFO factory working for supervisor Michelle Pfeiffer. I tell you what, though -- my checkered past will affect a lot of people's lives if I tell then about it! I mean, it worked for Margaret Jones, James Frey, Clifford Irving, Anna Anderson, and that woman they based the film "Julia" on. I could do a lot of good in the world. I mean, it's the idea of my life that will win people over, if not the actual detail-ish, accurate-ish recounting of events, right?