Chapter One: The Early Years
Ma and Pa went to their graves swearing to the Lord that I came out of Ma’s bum. It wasn’t until I turned 23 that I learned that they weren’t joking. According to the hospital records, Ma’s separator flap became dislodged during delivery, and I wound up coming out of her behind. Imagine that! Instead of being covered in amniotic fluid and flap secretions, I was born covered in poo.
But enough of those gruesome details. I doubt you’re reading this autobiography in order to become versed on the fecal aspects of my delivery.
I wasn’t named until five days post-partum. My mom was recovering from getting stitches in her ass and my dad quite frankly didn’t care, as I was the end result of a gang-bang with a broken prophylactic of which he was the owner. It was his mother, my beloved Grandmama, who finally beat him hard enough for refusing to take responsibility for his spawn.
I’ll never forget being held in my father’s arms the very first time. The smell of whiskey was overwhelming and the cigarette burn marks impossible to ignore, even for my newborn senses.
When they finally took me home they decided to name me Adam, after TVs Adam West, and promptly used me as a placemat while they sat in front of the tube and watched Charlie’s Angels.
To be continued…