Find us on facebook. A little history: The details of The Pink Torpedos lives are quite inconsequential... very well, where do we begin? Our father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low-grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. Our mother was a fifteen-year-old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sorts of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. Our childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When we were insolent we were placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds- pretty standard really. At the age of twelve we received our first scribe. At the age of fourteen a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved our testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum... it's breathtaking- I highly suggest you try it.
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