The People's Republic of Boulogne-Billancourt, France
My conception had something to do with forgetting to wind a grandfather clock, meaning that I was never created as such but simply historicised. There are nasty stories circulating about a bedridden writer raping a red swan, itself pleasingly conceived and carried out by a casting process in Birmingham delf. I took on plastic form in Denmark some time in the early 1980s and grew up in Melbourne and Sydney, before being imprisoned for most of my adolescent years in an airless plastic storage box. It is only in recent years that I escaped, ostensibly in order to provide a bunch of narcissistic postgraduate students with a ready-made catwalk, and have spent my time since then reflecting on the nature of laughter and the strange ways of humanity. All dialogue with the aforementioned is welcome in order to further my research. Conclusion of the foregoing.
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