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.
This looks like an image from a dream I can’t remember
Gorillas throwing that poop emoji 💩 everywhere
EAT RECYCLED FOOD