About
Now it comes to it. The most boring journal of our time.
Born in a cardboard box in 1805, I spent most of my childhood living in a corridor with my 15 brothers and sisters. Because writing hadn't been invented, I got my first job at age 11 memorising and reciting famous un-written novels to passers by in the street. This helped me develop a keen interest in yelling at people, which I retain to this day.
At the age of 18, I moved out of my corridor, and set off to find fame and fortune in the Big Apple. However, Australia doesn't have a big apple, only a Big Pineapple, so I didn't get very far. I moved into the spikey leaves at the top of the enlarged fruit for a number of years before becoming homesick, and deciding to head back to where I came from.
I now live under a desk in a corridor of my own in my hometown, emerging only to snap at people who dare pass me by.
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