The details of my life are quite inconsequential… very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet.
Someone went thru the process of building digital artwork of a swastika to denounce a political figure.
Just so we’re all on the same page.