Drunken debauchery isnt a new item on my menu .I grew up in a logging camp where my mom worked as a cook and part time sap sucker . Times were more than tough I wasnt big enough to work in the woods and mom was losing her looks due to her turpentine/gin addiction. I had been violated (all in good fun)by some of moms logging buddies for years and thought that I could make a go of it in the city. My delusions of absolute grandeur and fantasies of being plowed by Brad Pitt were dashed as the only employment I could find was as a condom recycler at a Korean whorehouse.(bring your own). Until I met Frank Rothststein he was a Rabbi and a flaming homosexual craigslist poster with a penchant for dingleberries,of which I had plenty . Frank and I had good times he would make soup out of my shitballs and I would drink mai-tais and enjoy his gagging sounds. Things were great until my mom tracked me down and started shaking me down for money mommy knew that all of my dingleberries were fake because I was born with a rare genetic diseaese that made my anus and buttcheeks incapable of creating stinky love balls for my man. I had been buying shit covered hairballs from homeless men for years and trusted my asshair guys with my life .I decided these wine swilling shitball men should kill my mom. The plan went wrong and I was forced to go underground and leave my wealthy shiteating lover. I was living on the streets and trying to sell other mens shitballs for money ,things were tough but it was all I had I had become a DINGLEBERRY hustler. Then I drank Pabst blue ribbon and my life is great blah blah blah. Thanks PBR.