My Pseudo-Autobiography

[RancidInsanity]

In 1992 I was born in the suburbs of Paris, France. My father was a horrible farmer, who had spent most his life chasing after the holy grail, along with various Italian women he had picked up on the way. My mother was one of these Italian women, she almost always wore a mask and preferred to be called "Elicia Burtolli".

When I was a mere boy, aged five years, my parents developed my brother, Allfeirdo. I had to guard my brother from the local dominatrix that would come dressed as various historical figures. The rest of my childhood, apart from the accident at the "factory", was uneventful, as you might assume.

My sixteenth birthday was the highlight of my teen hood. I learned that my brother, Allfeirdo, as well as my mother and father had all been saving up money, in order to buy an Italian women for my birthday. I remember the tears of joy that ran down my face as the Italian women hugged me.

In the days that followed my birthday celebration, which included special guests like Andy Dick and Will Sasso, I developed a severe case of sickle-cell amnesia. The Italian women whom I'd received for my sixteenth birthday, whom I'd named "Patsy", took excellent care of me while I was bed-ridden.

I began to take an interest in theatre, and at the age of seventeen, I wrote my first musical, entitled, "The Great Gatsby II: Tales of the undead". I turned it into a local publishing house, the woman at the front desk had the face of a Catholic Nun, but the body of an agnostic porn star. She wore white-leather chaps, adorned haphazardly with bright sequins, she smiled and offered me a bottle of Perrier.

I slapped it out of her hands and told her to only speak to me in rhyme.

So she did.

The woman at the desk in the local publishing house tied her auburn hair back in a bun, I began to sweat uncontrollably. We then made sweet monkey love inside a body-bag.

She said, "I'll publish your play."

I said, "Like hell you will."

On my journey to find another publisher I came across an abandoned mansion, which I made my base of operations. There was a constant rattling from inside a closet I just couldn't get open with my womanish strength. I finally called a locksmith.

The locksmith said, "Hello? What seems to be the problem?"

I said, "I made love with a red-haired nun inside a body bag…and, I need a door opened."

The locksmith entered my mansion the next morning, wearing nothing but a grin, and one leather glove.

Using his talents, he opened the door, there stood Patsy, the Italian women I had been given by my now estranged family for my sixteenth birthday.

Patsy said, "What the hell are you doing here?"
I broke a lantern over Patsy's head, she fell into the waiting arms of the locksmith. That was the last time I ever saw Patsy.

Inside the mansion, I found various paintings of a naked Porky Pig, smoking premium-blend Cubans, and holding an elusive first-edition copy of "The Jeffersons" DVD.

After spending weeks at a particular cyber-café, called, "Vagiant Dreams", I finally met a woman.

The woman sat down at my table across from me, the noise of coffee being made and lambs being lead to slaughter could heard in the distance. I quickly closed my laptop which still had the homepage of "hypnoerotica.com" loaded.

I looked up at the woman who had sat across from me. She looked like a mannequin, infact, she was a mannequin, a hairy yet balding man with the most intimidating mustache I had ever seen, gave me a rough pat on the shoulder.

Wearing nothing but grease-stained wifebeater, and of course his mustache, he sat down and the two of us entered in a strange conversation of sorts.

"So, I knew your father, infact, I am your father." My father said

I began to vomit, eventually I up-chucked a large platter of live snails, in my confusion from them and the vomiting, I mistook the platter of snails as a phone booth, so then of course I proceeded to get undressed.

My hairy and balding father slowly stood, a grin on his bloodied face.

The last thing I saw before blacking-out was the scary, yet, strangely arousing image of Christopher Walken, making scrambled eggs, wearing nothing but a an "I love NYC" shirt, and holding the severed head of Joe Biden.

I woke up back in my mansion, I could hardly move the mannequin that was pinning me to the floor with my womanish strength.

I sudden flash of inspiration hit me, I was knocked back to the floor and I literally couldn't see for a few moments.

I finally had the idea for my next musical, "The passion of Benito Mussolini"

The mansion had an impressive study within it, and I quickly set up my work place. I entered the study wearing nothing but a red-satin' robe and smoked some on my bubble-pipe.

The dirty old typewriter had a misaligned letter "t", which quickly got me angry, and I hurled the typewriter across the room. The typewriter of course, burst into flames. As I cursed while I attempted to extinguish the flame with a spare shoehorn I had, I remembered thinking, "Cocaine is a helluva drug."

That night I dreamt of various Italian women, all holding bananas, and laughing.

I woke up drenched in sweat, I rolled over only to find Wayne Brady in bed with me.

He smiled and said, "I got somethin' for yah."

I just nodded my head very slowly while I reached for my harpoon gun and bottle of brandy I had left half-drank from last night.

Jumping out of bed with my cougar-like reflexes I shot Wayne Brady while the cool sensation of brandy trickling down the back of my throat made me laugh maniacally.

I realized I had the hide the body, luckily there was a small swamp behind the mansion.

As I was securing the chains to Wayne's body, which were attached to the cylinder blocks and I bartered off a traveling gypsy who went simply by "Grimace", I saw an older woman looking directly at me, and she had my harpoon gun.

Suddenly a UFO came into view, and hovered directly over me, I was soon hit with a beam of light and began to drift up towards the spaceship.

I opened my eyes, there stood a large pile of what appeared to be dead rats. I started to weep, when suddenly an anthromorphic cat-woman appeared. She started to lick one of the dead rats, which of course made me laugh hysterically.

I was beamed back down on the front porch of my mansion, covered in bags of ice, and blood. There was a package at the door, I carefully and methodically opened it, there was my laptop I had left at the cyber-café, "Vagiant Dreams".

A note was attached, it read, "Dear son, if you're reading this then I am pushing women named Daisy around for fun."

I knew where my estranged father was, but first I had to write my musical masterpiece, "The Passion of Benito Mussolini".

It took around five hours to write, and I was constantly distracted by the image of a screaming woman at my window. When I had finished writing, I went around back to find that it was a screaming woman. We then spread peanut butter on our bodies and made beautiful love.

The woman said she knew of another publishing house in town and would drive me there. I had no choice but to agree, as she had a machete in hand, and was not afraid to use it.

Her vehicle was actually a hovercraft, and a grand one at that. I watched Mickey Mouse on the attached Television while we drove to this other publishing house.

The publishing house was a very distinct victorian-style house. The woman mysteriously drove off I soon as I exited her vehicle. I knocked on the door, a young, curvy, and very pale woman answered.

The woman asked, "You're here for our ritual?"

I answered, "You're a vampire aren't you?"

The ritual was very strange, dozens of young, curvy, and very pale vampiric women reviewed my script for "The Passion of Benito Mussolini", they cried, they laughed, they yelled racial slurs at the passing postman, who was actually a bird, in disguise.

The vampiric women agreed to publish my musical, if, I made sweet monkey love to all them at once.

I said, "Get rrrready to rrrrrummmbleeee!!"

A local theatre, called, Topeka Civic Theatre, which also doubled as the only place you could buy anal bleach in town, agreed to perform my masterpiece musical.

There I met a woman who would talk to me in real life, but completely ignore any facebook messages from me, she said her name was Shirrelli.

I went to the first showing of "The Passion of Benito Mussolini" at Topeka Civic Theatre, to see my old friends, Milloreti, and "Carlson" performing the two lead roles, Mussolini and Karrot-Top.

As I drank my Italian white wine, I remember thinking, "Things can only go down-hill from here."

Unfortunately, I was right.

On the taxi cab ride back to the mansion, all my energy was spent thinking about the countless Italian woman I had been with, and the things we'd done. I began to laugh, the taxi cab driver was apparently offended, or possibly disgusted as I had gone into my greatest hits with Italian women in extraordinary detail.

The driver, who bared an uncanny resemblance to Connie Chung, kicked me out of the moving cab, needless to say, I rolled on the ground for several yards and then lay sprawled on the front lawn unconscious for around five days.

When I awoke, I noticed a ring of mushrooms had grown around me in a perfect circle.

I thought, "This can only lead to trouble."

Of course I ate as many of mushrooms as I could before things began to get weird. I consider my tale so far to be pretty average and common, but this is where our trails split.

Suddenly I was surrounded by ninjas, they all become dance the safety dance, which I found extremely arousing, yet, hysterically humorous at the same time.

Godzilla stomped his way onto the battlefield, my front lawn was of course now a battlefield because that damn Ryan Seacrest had formed a virtually unstoppable tag-team with Bobby Lee, and they proceeded to slaughter the ninjas, and, disturbingly so.

I felt the top of my hair start to grow rapidly, I knew what was happening, I quickly grabbed my glasses from my vest pocket, the transformation was nearly complete, I was turning into Don King, the messiah.

When the effects of the mushrooms had faded, I glanced about only to find my mansion in smoldering ashes. I felt the top of my head, only to discover that I was still Don King, the messiah.

I walked towards town, which had been aptly named "Ode de la morte"

I kicked down the door of the first church I saw with my messiah-esque strength. Instantly men and woman lined up to be my servants.

All I could say was, "How about that."

With my ministry, which I had named "The Holy Ministry of Don King, messiah" , I knew that goods times were to come.

Fortunately enough for me, I was correct.

With the surplus of money I received from my many servants, I built on to my chapel. It was late at night, the moon glared down upon me, and then made an assortment of other facial expressions.

The construction workers were all short, green-haired, and had orange skin, I asked if they were indeed oompa loompas, they explained to me that the term "oompla loompa" is now considered a racial slur, and they preferred to be called, "Wangdoodlan-Americans".

They built the dance club, spa, and haberdashery with amazing speed. My Chapel and my ministry, "The Holy Ministry of Don King, messiah" was now ready to spread its good news throughout the land.

The next year went by like a smeared poop stain on an old piece of toilet paper. I was joyful as I danced the limbo with various Italian women, gave massages and washed various hairy 47 year old men, and sold hats and other head gear to single mothers.

Then a mutiny began to form within my congregation, twenty-one of my servants claimed I was not actually Don King, and I was using them. That was of course, the truth, but I wasn't going to let them know that.

The servants who had formed a pact, were all found dead the next the morning, officials said ninjas were to blame, but I know what really happened.

I was growing old, I need to implant my holy seed into a door of life, to continue my legacy. Sadly, this is a tale for another time.

One day, I went shopping at the local grocer, a woman appeared from the shadows of the supermarket and kicked me in the throat.

"My name is Peppersnuckle, I am your sister." Peppersnuckle spoke in nearly a whisper

As I couldn't breath I merely flipped her off before I passed out.

When I awoke Peppersnuckle was some five feet cooking some sort of stew in a pan, over an open fire. I look around, we were apparently in a cave of some sort, and Peppersnuckle was of course wearing a traditional Victorian-style dress.

"What some stew, brother?" she said

"Why don't you make like a banana…and ****!" I yelled, tears rolling down my face

As I exited the cave I could see the bright city lights, as well as an ocean.

The beach was littered with seashells and used condoms, I tip-toed across the sand to where the ocean was relentlessly pushing the shoreline. Suddenly, what I at first thought was a beautiful woman washed up on shore. I examined her fish tail, she was a mermaid, and she looked damn fine too.

She spoke like a chorus of a hundred angels, I spoke like the stuttering and trembling fool I was.

I knew where this was going, so I pulled out my own signature weapon, a chainsaw-scythe, and murdered her, right there on the beach. I thought God himself would smite me right there on the spot, but I could only hear the crashing of the waves, and the far off sound of honky-tonk music.

I built a fire and had mermaid sushi for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Leaving half of the mermaid's corpse on the beach, I headed towards the lights of the distant city, knowing full well that I was doomed.

I finally reached a forest, the last barrier between me and this mysterious city. A talking squirrel who claimed his name was "Vladimir Putin", stopped me in a clearing of the forest.

"You must not proceed." The squirrel named Vladimir Putin told me in a thick Russian accent.

"Everybody can change" were the only words I was able to spit out as I shook in rage

"I must break you." The squirrel said calmly in his thick Russian accent.

The last thing I remember was the squirrel leaping up towards my face, teeth fully exposed.

I awoke at the end of the forest, covered in my own blood, and oddly enough to me, butterfingers.

Caring as many butterfingers as I could with me as I sprinted towards the city, I only thought of how much cash that could be made from these candy bars.

A sign reading, "Welcome to Paris" greeted me and we shook hands.

I was back in my hometown, I first rented an old shabby apartment and set up a small shop, selling candy, and exotic lingerie.

My first costumer was an extremely odd old man. He entered my store causing the bell to ring, I looked up to see his classy pin-stripe suit and violet tie. His shoes were so shiny, I had to look away, and cry.

Having not one hair to speak of on the top of his head, but more than plenty on his chin, he eventually came to check out his purchases, five butterfinger bars and a Garter belt.

"How do you do?" I asked searchingly looking into his pale blue eyes

"Fine. You?" the old man answered, looking back into my eyes

The old man and I proceeded to talk about life, women, and pokemon.

He then left leaving only the faint smell of summer lilac behind.

The bell rang again, just as I was getting ready to close up shop, it was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life.
As I made eye contact with the woman who had just entered, I realized my usually sharp and silver tongue, felt like an old damp bagel someone had tossed away into a sewer drain.

"Can I interest you in some sweets? Or maybe some…intimates…?" I managed to finally blurt out

"I actually came for your soul. I am a succubus." The woman explained desperately as various pitbulls began humping her long leg.

Knowing full well what a succubus was, a female demon who steals your soul while having sexual intercourse with its victim, I was forced to leave my candy & underwear store.

After fleeing my Candy & Lingerie store I hotwired my best friend's car, a fully working model of the 1960s batmobile roadster. My best friend was pissed, to say the least.

Driving aimlessly for miles, time and space seemed to distort severely, I begin to breath heavier and heavier, sweat began pouring out from me, I thought I was going to die. Suddenly I saw an old log cabin, I swerved towards it before I blacked out.

I awoke to the sight of ten pirates all standing around me. One handed me a fresh oyster and another gave me an ice cold bottle of Baileys. For the next few days the pirates and I sang old Irish folk songs and river-danced. They told me of a magical sword that would grant the first person to remove it from its prison three wishes.

Finally having a purpose in life again, I headed towards Canada, the magical kingdom where the pirates said the sword would be.

Traveling on foot was terrible, the heat of that damned sun was driving me insane, I screeched at anything that moved, and kicked anything that resembled a kitten. Eventually the camel spoken of only in the legends of the lost tribe of Spork made his presence known to me. In a blinding flash of light and a crack of thunder that shook the entire landscape, the camel, the holy son of Sporkia, offered to take me to the magical sword.

Traveling faster than the speed of piss, we reached the magical kingdom of Canada, and the tomb where I would have to face the biggest challenge of my life.

Stepping over puddles of water, blood, and piss I came to giant statue of various pitbulls, humping a succubus.

I knelt before the masterpiece, cried, and prayed to the almighty Sporkia.

Then Sporkia herself descended from up above the clouds, raised her mighty scimitar, and spoke to me, "Come hither Adam, and raise thy sword."

I was an such awe of my Goddesses' beauty, I didn't even notice the fruit bats pooping on me, or the fact that I was so freakin' nippin'. Unfortunately I had no sword, only my trusty battle ax, whom I'd named, "Big Papa Go-nad". Sporkia looked at me and frowned, she slowly waved her hands and the stature of a succubus getting humped by various pitbulls slid to the left, revealing a dark passageway.

"Go now, and fetch thy glory." Sporkia whispered in my ear

I danced boldly into the passage, my minstrels followed reluctantly, singing old bible hymns. I yelled at them to stop, as I had a headache and was covered in Bat poop.

After several minutes of walking through the torch-lit passageway, I began to hear jazz flute being played masterfully, my minstrels got jealous and began to complain, I got angry and yelled even louder, suddenly, while walking, the passage widened and there sat a painter, his brush moving ever so slowly, he whistled, hummed, and made an odd assortment of clicks to the theme of Bonaza.

"Good kind sir, how hath thy made it this deep into the cleavage of this massive maze?" I spoke, while deep-throating a bananna.

The Painter turned to face me, I gasped, as I knew this man, this legend, this living relic of a past time, a time so marvelous, women often flashed men for just giving them the time of day. This man, was Gene Wilder.

"You stole fizzy-lifting drinks!" Gene Wilder yelled at myself and the minstrels which had now begun to have a battle royale.

"But I seek the holy sword of Sporkia, I am on a noble and holy quest!" I shouted just angry back at him

"You lose! You get nothing! Good day sir!" Gene wilder shouted in his full Willy Wonka attire

"But I-" I started to say

"I said Good day!" Gene interrupted me

I left the maze where Sporkia's sword was supposedly hidden, then I brutally murdered all twelve of my minstrels, burying them in a mass-grave on the side of the road.

I knelt down and bowed my head, the bats of course saw my back as a mating ground, and began to have sex on me. I knew not of who I could turn to, or what was next for me, but I felt something in my pocket, shaking. It was my cell phone, and I had a call.

"Hello?" I asked, my voice strained because of all the claw marks on my back from the bats.

"Come to the corner of Oakley & 6th, and open the cardboard box that will be labeled, "The Sanford & Son Manifesto"

Paris was miles upon miles away, and who knew how long that Manifesto would stay untouched? I hobbled towards what I only hoped was the direction of Paris.

After battling all 126 knights of King Arthur's round table, I reached my old stomping grounds, Paris.

At the corner of Oakley I found the box that was labeled "The Sandord & Son Manifesto", inside was the actual manuscript for "Sanford & Son: The Musical", along with instructions on how to get it produced at the local theatre. I was pissed off though, so I pissed on the manuscript and poured sugar on it, just to see some ants accidentally eat some of my pee. I was to busy laughing to notice a woman had walked up behind me.

"Hey big boy." The woman whispered into my ear

"Holy ****!" I yelled as I turned around and slapped her

"I'm Veronica, I'm a hot vampire chick, and I'd like to date you." Veronica said while she smiled, exposing her fangs

We then hid behind a tree and made love, she tried to bite me numerous times but I kept pushing her back, the time for my transformation into a vampiric form had not come…yet.

I met Veronica's parents, her father was an elderly Australian, while her mother was a long-legged pissed-off puerto rican.

One night, as I slept, Veronica broke into the small crappy apartment I had rented, which was actually alright, besides the fact that Jerry Signfield, George Kastanza, Kozmo Kramer, and "Elaine" were all my neighbors, and tried to bite me.

"I want a divorce you pig!" I cried like a catholic school girl

"We're not even engaged weakling." Veronica said as she proceeded to pick me up by my jaw and pin me againest my apartment wall, "You shall become my human servant"

I gulped loudly and no words would come to me and I only nodded my head slowly in fear as she let me back down. I slept off and on the rest of the night, I kept waking up all sweaty, and once, sticky.


It was not until a week later when Veronica returned, she carried two burning candles, and told me to pour the hot wax all over her body. I refused. Although I could hardly resist the idea of strapping her to large griddle and pouring hot pancake batter all over her body and licking it off.

After then making sweet donkey kong love inside a body bag, we ate skittle hamburgers.

Veronica then threw some hot skittles on my neck, they burned. I cried as she turned into a poop-spewing bat and flew out of my life forever.

A few days later I burnt the entire apartment complex to the ground while listening to "Du Hast". I traveled afar on my marvelous hot-air balloon, eventually crash landing in a mysterious land simply known as, "Kevin".

I awoke sprawled outside my balloon, covered in authentic Spanish salsa and an assortment of rare and priceless beanie babies. A native approached me, wearing only a polka-dot kilt and ounces upon ounces of sweat.

"Welcome to the mystical land of Kevin." The native spoke to me and winked

He was a muscular man, six-foot five and jet brown hair, he constantly swatted at things that just weren't there.

The locals of Kevin were apparently celebrating some holiday similar to Halloween, I happily joined in, and dressed up as Smurfette.

The next six months I pretended to be a woman by remaining in my Smufette costume, and I entered in a lesbian relationship with a Taylor Swift fembot. The two of us would spend our nights drinking Citron de la Rose, and worship a golden mini-statue depicting Big Papa Smurf fighting the hordes of Scooby Doo villains that attacked during the great flood of 1872.

I had frequent nightmares of Oscar Wilde, Geoffery Chaucer, Christopher Marlowe, Sir Phillip Sydney, and Queen Elizabeth beating me within an inch of my life, and then strangely spoon-feeding me the answers to a quiz they themselves thought up.

Once, the Taylor Swift fembot asked me if I considered myself an alcoholic.

I answered with a question, "Do you consider yourself a generous lover?"

We then proceeded to drink bottles upon bottles of 1935 Déesse du lait maternel, and laugh at each others dreams, as well as each others realities.

Within the land of Kevin there was a five-story building, it was a the local Massage Therapy Academy. I began to take lesson from a creature who went by the name of "Deertay Sanchez" who worked at the Academy, so I could give the Taylor Swift Fembot luxurious massages that would "Just put in her that mood". I planned to reveal to her next month that I wasn't actually a woman, and then impregnate her robotic chassis.