I was born inside a leather and land lace tomato breast. My father was a blues singer and my mother was a vegetarian prostitute. My toenails were always brittle, and my ribs aplenty. However, my vertebrae had a slight curvature, which lent itself to future sideways glances--both coming and going.

But we are getting ahead of ourselves. It wasn't always rainy inside of my leather and lace tomato breast womb, but occasionally some foreign government, or Delta slide-playing red rooster would seed the environs of my leather and lace tomato breast womb. Seeding has been outlawed m]for military use by most constitutional governments, but this whiskey and gin motherfucker just couldn't help his damn self. So, a few mystery clouds later, and I get flushed out of my safe haven, and into a grass-clipping tarmac where I don't know left from right. Misdexterity is a common condition of leather and lace tomato breast womb children, being that we are not sure wether we are born of fruits or vegetables (scientific jury's still out), so we question, curve, and howl like wolves, at women, cheap cologne and gin. Boorish.