How in the hell does someone throw out their

How in the hell does someone throw out their back blowing out the candles on their birthday cake? I asked for a pie. I'm allergic to cake.

What do I get? Cake, hives, and debilitating back pain. I must have some bad karma. There was that one time I stole a bike. How was I supposed to know

that God, or the universe, or whatever has a special place in its heart for cute little rich kids. The rest of my life was going to be payback for that bike. I was afflicted

by rickets, which left me both jittery and blood-thirsty. My only wish was that i could once again see my first pet,

a boneless chicken I named "Parts". She had soft feathers and would coo gently when I stroked her. One day my larder was empty and the bloodthirstiness took over and I

went over to the neighbor's house and killed their children. I brought back the meat so that my chicken "Parts" and I could enjoy a satisfying meal. I let "Parts" peck out their

eyes and gullets, while I saved the more succlent bits for myself. My chicken "parts" was notorious in the fowl world of birds for being the Hannibal Lecter of the

penis kingdom. Still, too late to go back and ask nicely, "Ma'am, could you please not turn me into a half-man, half-chicken for your own perverse pleasures?" That ship had sailed.

Unseen. I watched her dance in slow circles, utterly mesmerised by the strangeness of the situation I had gotten myself into.