-I was born two months premature. When I was one, I was dropped on the porch. When I was two, I had pneumonia. When I was three, I got the chicken pox. When I was four, I fell down the stairs and broke six ribs. When I was five, my uncle was decapitated by watermelon. When I was seven, my parents hit me in the head with a shovel. When I was seven, I lost my right index finger to my pet rat. When I was eight, my dog Spike got hit by a tractor. When I was nine, my mother lost her arm to a rabid brahmin. When I was ten, my sister was torn to bits by a pack of dogs. When I was eleven, my grandfather killed himself, because I was ugly. When I was twelve, my grandmother killed herself, because I was ugly. When I was thirteen, my father poked out his eyes with a pitchfork in a drunken stupor. When I was fourteen, my brother lost his hand to a wallaby. When I was fifteen, my aunt choked to death on a chicken bone. When I was sixteen, I lost my cousin to a badger. When I was seventeen, I cut off my left big toe with a hoe. When I was eighteen, my father lost his right leg to the same tractor, that killed my dog. When I was nineteen...
-Oh, I get the picture. What's currently bothering you?
-Well, there I was, traveling through the desert, when suddenly my brahmin falls over dead. About then I relized I was low on water and hadn't had a drink in quite a while. Later, my bones began to ache, my head started to hurt. Well, there I was sitting in the desert, waiting for the world to swallow my musterable existence, when a pack of deathclaws shous up. Well, I'm thinking to myself, this is it. Now I can die. I can wind up as a pile od deathclaw shit in the middle of the desert. But no... fate had yet another cruel card to play against me. You see, the deathclaws didn't kill me. Instead they gave me water, brought me herem gave me this room, gave me food, cleaned me up, and now they won't me leave. I know they're fattening me uo for some unknown, horrible fate. I keep telling them that I would probably taste better if i was leaner but it does no good. They just smile -- if you can call it that -- and pat me on head and say 'don't worry human, thinks will be better.' Ha! We both know what that means. Anyway, to make matters worse, then they started giving me some sort of medication. It was making me gassy, so I stopped taking it -- and it's a good think I did. I think it was some sort of 'mind control' pill, because I started to feel, like things weren't actually bad as I thought! Anyway, that's about it. I'm just waiting for the dinner bell to chime, so that they can feast on my bloated body.
-Please tell me that you don't have any children.
-Nope. When I turned twenty-two this strange fungus started to grow on my test...
-Stop! I don't want to know!
