From: My Invented Personal History vol. 3

I once spent about four months living under a bridge in western New York. During my time there I had hoped that I could extract some tolls from passers by, but no one ever stopped.  I don’t blame them tho.  There was a fog that was nearly impenetrable, and really who would stop for a guy in a troll suit with a sign that read: “Everything is Foreseeable.”

I was born without a vagina.

I once had an intensive letter writing exchange with Nietzsche.  I was the void into which he spat.  It got ugly quickly and I no longer answer his letters.  I just let them pile up.  At some point in the future, when I have enough letters, I will construct an idol.  

I collect vintage hats.  I do not wear the vintage hats.  I keep them in boxes.  I keep the boxes in other boxes in the basement behind some old shoes.  I have thousands of them.  

I woke up and went outside to find that my backyard had been replaced with a junkyard, but not any old junkyard.  This junkyard was populated with the cars of famous (and some not so famous) former mobsters.  There was a note tacked to my door that apologized for the inconvenience, and implored me to do the right thing and try and reform the cars.

When I was thirteen some gypsies came to our town and taught everyone a new dance.  Now every year on a certain date a new record arrives at the local post-office and everyone packs into the town square to burn the record.  The fire brings out the sweetest music.