I have memorized and recite this in my head when I feel I can't go on:
The details of my life are quite inconsequential, but 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 15 year old prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize and 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 possess and the insane lament..... My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds. Pretty standard really. At the age of twelve I recieved my first scribe. At the age of 14 a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritulistitcally shaved my t********.
There really is nothing like a shorn s******, it's breathtaking. I really suggest you try it.