"'Bitch! Bastard!Damn! Shit!" I proclaimed with joy, if not necessarily wit, in the middle of Boys' Market in Manchester, New Hampshire. Random shoppers stopped in the aisle, and watched me with delight -- or at least curiosity-- as i regurgitated this mantra. Dad stood by with genuine pride, beaming through the mock surprise on his face.
My guess is that when something is so easy, so greatly rewarded, and bears so few negative consequences, it's a recipe for addiction. From that moment on, everything I did was in search of that rush. So i guess I'm saying that I'm in most ways, my father's fault. He filled my mother's vagina with the filthy semen that consisted of me, then filled my head with even more filth."
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