I don't remember if I mentioned it in the first chapter of MY MEMOIRS, but the hospital I was born in burned down, and the first thing to pop up in it's place was a Kentucky Fried Chicken ( a REAL one - NOT a "KFC"!!!) I always thought that chain of events seemed somehow appropriate. But now I find myself jealous of THIS KID - I mean, getting to tell everybody your story, floating down the river like Baby Moses and getting saved in a Mickey D's crapper? I mean, gotdam. I'd be milking that for the rest of my life. "Yeah? Really, that's it? We're breaking up? Well, EXCUUUUUUUUUUSE me, I didn't realize hitting on your sister was wrong! But then I was left to die in a McDonald's bathroom by my father, so what the fuck would I know!??!?!!?!" I'd be wearing the t-shirt every day, too: "My Dad Went to McDonald's and All I Got Was This Lousy T-shirt...and a Home."
Sigh. You gotta have goals in this life, friends.
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