The details of my life are quite

The details of my life are quite inconsequential Very well, where do I begin My father was a relentlessly selfimproving boulangerie owner from Belgium with lowgrade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a 15yearold French prostitute named Chloé with webbed feet. My father would womanize; he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes, he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius posses