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I was born a small monkey into a family of rubber farmers. My dad lost his arms and legs in a violent rubber explosion, and us kids had to work from dawn to dusk just to keep the family afloat. My mom, the birthday cake, was always very sweet, but never had much more to say during our turbulent youth other than "Happy birthday!" and "You're over the hill!" My twin sister, the lemur, dated a leaf blower during our tempestuous teenage years, and it was her devestation when he left her for a rake that finally drove me out of the paper sack. I gathered up my coconut shells and my earthworm collection, and loaded up my bicycle. My dad, when he discovered I was heading out to the big city to make my fortune, tried to give me some advice, but as usual he was stumped. My mom told me "Merry Xmas!" but the message was garbled because someone left her out in the rain. On the way into town I lost a tire to a group of savage gorillas engaged in a firefight. The band's pyrotechnics were too much and my rear tire abandoned ship and ran away back to his friends at the rubber tree farm. I turned the other loose and caught a ride with some chicken farmers. I hit the streets running and have never looked back.