Hello, I am an ex-hooker heroin addict with AIDS who eats live puppies.
Please read my bookBy Mark Morford, SF Gate Columnist
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
I shall start my story humbly, meekly, just like JT LeRoy and James Frey. Small town, somewhere in Idaho or maybe rural Montana, brought up by a sadistic pedophiliac Pentecostal preacher father who only has one good arm and a decimated colon, and a narcoleptic mother with 17 cats who sucks down cases of Tab and reads the "Left Behind" books as nonfiction and who passes out every night in a Percocet haze watching endless reruns of "Knight Rider."
Me and my two sadistic, ADD brothers will sneak off to the local zoo for days at a time and sleep with the monkeys and torture penguins with fireworks. I will suck on my first bong at age 4 and will be stone drunk by 7 and will regularly black out by age 10, but not before impregnating my pothead babysitter and stealing her credit card to buy a Game Boy and a small Cessna, which I will promptly fly all the way to Mexico before crashing into a tortilla factory and breaking my spine in 12 places and rupturing my kidneys, which I will pay a Mexican mafia doctor named Mannie 50 bucks to swap with black-market kidneys stolen from unwary tourists. Oh my yes. I can see it now.
Or no, no wait, better yet, I shall be from wealthy suburbia, Walnut Creek or Danville or someplace with a snooty-sounding name like Forest Hills or Blackthorne, full of condescending white kids and their new BMWs and sloppy sex and lousy cocaine, shiny happy families full of secret perversions masked by Botox smiles and copious antidepressants and huge credit-card debt and enormous thick-carpeted homes they think are architectural wonders but which look more like rejects from Barbie's Suicide Playhouse.
Trouble, it shall be my middle name. Trouble and abuse and violence. Because nothing bespeaks the modern American experience than this trifecta of pain and suffering and longing for death, don't you agree? No? Doesn't matter. This is, apparently, what the people want.
There will be rapes. There will be smack-downs. There will be arrests and confrontations and knife fights, guns and suicides and adultery and much, much vomit. Vomit is key. And blood. Lots of blood. Especially when it comes from, you know, orifices.
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