As with all children, I was born kicking and screaming into the world. In fact, so impressed by my abilities, the football coach for the Sprouston Village Football Club kidnapped me from the chicken-wing arms of my mother to become the star striker of his ambitious squad. My skill with the ball was so acute that it wasn't long before I was recognised as the top goal scorer of the Scottish Highland Village Football Association's second division.
Umbillical chord still swinging, I lead the side to a 4-2 victory against the local rivals Yetholm United and secured my team, who had become like a family to me throughout the sporting season, promotion into the top division. Unfortunately, the celebrations were rowdy, rambunctious and wrought with excessive drug abuse. Caught red handed by the local police force driving a tractor across a snow-capped torr while under the influence of 40g of amphetamines, I was promptly arrested and charged for placing a postage stamp on a recent letter to an avid fan upside down. The Royal Mail is nothing if not meticulous in their work.
Disgraced, and once again assured that email was the future of messaging, my footballing career was officially over. Having already spent the £20 wages gained from the village football on a night of debauchery and fun, I decided to lay low with two companions of mine, the aspiring Irish rappers Z-Wiz and Muircheartach P. Aimhirghin. After my run in with the law, the duo's bopping tunes inspired me to do something more valuable with my life and I swiftly disembowelled them both and stole their 24-inch wide-screen Panasonic Television, exchanging it with a mad gypsy woman for a train ticket to London.
Unfortunately I was illiterate and ended up on a bus to Tavistock where I met the love of my life. Jackie was a seventy six year-old grandmother who just couldn't say no to my boyish charm or looks. It may have been something to do with the fact that through a hereditary disease she was incapable of speech, but I knew that deep inside she revelled in the attention I showed her calloused skin in the endless, sweaty mashing together of our love-making.
We were like Simon and Garfunkel; inseparable until one of us decided to cross the pond early in the duet's career. That was right; I had decided to travel to America and become rich as a Vacuum Cleaner Salesman but once again my atrocious knowledge of geography, coupled with my complete lack of schooling, had me on a cargo flight carrying anti-fuel emission leaflets to Mumbai, India.
Unsure of myself, I sequestered away in a hidden convent until a large group of Somalian Pirates, who also lacked the needed geographical sense to survive in the 21st century, pillaged the convent and took me away to be trained as their personal dancing monkey. Fortunately I managed to escape into the Orangutan quarter of the Delhi National Zoo and have remained here ever since, living off the fruit thrown to me by the occasional Japanese tourist.
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