I can’t stand kids.

I’m annoyed at everything they stand for, from grubby icky fingers to constant complaining and endless whining. I don’t know why, but children bring out the worst in me. I just can’t stand their fucking mess.

But much, much worse is the idea that I might’ve been one of those whiny little shits at one point in my life.

At least you’d think so, wouldn’t you?

But see, I found a way around it. The theory is that I was born in a test tube at 16 years of age. Everything else that I remember was artifically implanted in my brain by my parents. Between my mother (a biochemist) and my father (an engineer), I’m sure they would have figured out how to do it.

At least, that was the theory until today when I stumbled across this photo tucked away in the basement between several dusty boxes.

Who the HELL is that? So I wasn’t born in a test tube?

Okay, so what? My theory just needs a few subtle touches. But here’s the idea: In order to throw off the authorities, my mum and dad adopted some poor sucker to act as my childhood imposter. After I was succesfully born à la test tube, my parents disposed of the child (in the most humane way, I’m sure), and years later, here I am.