Some time ago, I was born. But before that, my coming was heralded by three beams of brilliant blue light that shone forth from the home of my conception which were visible on Jupiter, Saturn and Uranus and a loud happy moan that emanated from somewhere above me. Next thing I knew, I was enclosed in a wet warm bubble, free to do absolutely nothing but simply exist, safe from the big bad world outside with its sin and crime and Kardashians. Life was good, and those were the happiest months of my life. Then I was born, and shit went down. This blog is the story of that shit going down.

My name is MiB, by the way. It’s on the top of the blog. And in the name. AND in the URL. In fact, if you didn’t figure out that my name was MiB by now, maybe this blog isn’t the best of places for you. I mean, even semi-retarded people on Tik could figure that out. It’s people like you that tend to be the bane of my existence and the victims of my work, and if you are one of these people, then off is the direction in which I wish you would fuck. Conversely, if you had the brainpower to figure out my name but still don’t know who I am, that’s perfectly fine. A-OK. In fact, I’d like to take this new opportunity to convince you that I’m not a total shithead. Hello, stranger! I’m not a total shithead. Honest.

Hmmm… what else do you need to know? I attend a school of sorts, a “private educational institution based on intrinsic Christian values” somewhere in the deep dark spleen of modern Johannesburg. It’s called St Jiminy’s College, after the patron saint of small talking crickets and wooden puppet wet-dreams. It’s large, old and very Christian, but, just like scabies, it tends to grow on you over the years. It was here at this esteemed scholastic faculty that I met the greatest of my archenemies, a Belarusian bastard whose very being seems to exude pretentiousness and pain-up-the-ass-ity like a moron exudes, you know, moronity. He’ll feature a lot, so watch out for him.

Other than that, I’m just your normal, average, everyday run-of-the-mill awesome badass Batman-like genius with a hard-on for pop culture and a penchant for words. I think, I type, I drink and curl silently into the foetal position to mourn the death of depth in society. Lather, rinse, repeat.

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