The Starving Bulls**t Artist

Look! Click on stuff! Laugh! Cry! Help Me!

*Where I Came From February 7, 2009

When I talk to other people and tell them about my legal woes they all ask me different variations on the same basic question:

“How in the hell did you become so screwed up?”

I’ve always told different people different stories. I’ve told some I was abandoned at an Indian Reservation when I was a newborn and that I was raised by one of the wise, benevolent tribal elders.

I’ve told others that my family was extremely, nauseatingly wealthy & that I was kidnapped by poor people who hated my well-to-do family for all they had.

To others I tell them my family was killed in a freak volcano eruption on the Big Island of Hawaii while I was sunbathing at the resort’s saltwater pool.

While these are all interesting stories, they pale in comparison to my actual upbringing. I’ve never revealed the truth of my origins because I didn’t want to bring undue attention to my…unusual background. You know how the Government is about their secrets and all. 

That’s right boys & girls: they like to keep them. At any cost.

However, the last person connected with the project is dead.  I can now speak about my childhood without fearing retribution from the United Stated Government.

I am a Pod Person. I’ll let that sink in.

In the late seventies there was a top secret project in the CIA that only the very higest on the governmental food chain had clearence on. It’s name was Operation Pea Patch.

Despite the ridiculous code name for the project, the aims of the top scientists and government officials who were in charge were anything but. The goal was to develop human embryos but  instead of putting these embryos in a human female uterus, they were to be transplanted into…gigantic pea pods.

These scientists developed 5,000 embryos and 5,000 pods for them to incubate in. Then we were transferred from our petri dishes into the pods. And then they waited.

Now, some of you may be wondering why on Earth the government would want to do this. I could get into it, but it’s pretty mundane. All you need to know is this: to see if they could.

And they did.

My 4,999 fellow pod babies and I gestated for five years before we were developed enough to survive outside of the pod. When we hatched from our pods  we were perfectly developed little newborns- except we were green.

The green hue faded from our skins by our first birthdays (pod hatching- day?) From then on we were like any other toddlers, despite mine and my pod brethren…aggression issues. Not all of  the “poddlers” made it out of the CIA laboratory in one piece. This flaw was fixed by “positive and negative reinforcement.”

It’s quite simple despite the technical sounding name. Every time one of us poddlers didn’t injure, kill or maim the scientists who created us, fellow poddlers, or our handlers we got a little treat. An extra cookie at snack time, pretty unicorn stickers or a few extra minutes of play time were all common rewards.

But if the poddlers were bad and we, for a purely hypothetical example, gouged out one of the nursery monitors eyes with a pickup stick because she made me- I mean one of us- stop coloring because it was nap-time, we were reprimanded.

This was  usually by shock treatments, ice water therapy and complete and total isolation from all humans and lab animals for however long our handlers thought was necessary to teach us not to hurt/kill/maim others.

I think that’s fair, don’t you?

Anyway, this is the environment I grew up in along with the other pod children. Except for the fact we were constantly watched, monitored and videotaped by a team of elite CIA scientists, my childhood was fairly normal. In fact, I think my “de-flowering” by one of my pod brothers was filmed by a surveillance camera.

Oh, those were the days!

By the time we turned 18 and were legally adults there was only about 400 pod children left. The rest were victims of Darwinism.

The CIA scientists and officials didn’t want us to go out into the world just then. They thought we weren’t “socialized” enough for release. It’s amazing what 400 pod children can do when they set their minds on a single goal. Nothing could stop us from leaving that lab; not nerve gas, AK-47s, hand grenades or even a tank. We showed them!

That’s pretty much it. You may be curious about how I made my way in the world or about the other surviving pod people ( I call them “podults”)but that’s a story for another day.

I hope this answered some of your questions about my past. I need to make sure to print an extra copy for the judge that’s hearing my case. My lawyers seem to think that given my “unusual upbringing” the judge will “empathize” and that it will help my case.

I don’t know what empathize means, even though my lawyers explained it to me. I think they just made that word up.