And so it was, I fell into careless abandon. I lost my job, my girlfriend, my car was in the impound lot and it had my last pack of smokes in it. I stood in the kitchen, naked, without care. I brought a knife out of the third drawer, and, as I saw its steely blade glint in reflection of the kitchen light, the power went out. I dropped the knife and it cut my dick off, then tripped and fell backwards in a sudden state of pyschedelia and slow-motion. As I was falling, I had an epiphany, like my mind was suddenly clearer than it had ever been. I thought to myself that one thought, my epiphany, my life-changing thought that could make my life make sense again: I can just get chicks to fuck me with a strap-on now that my dick has been cut off. I could finally fulfill my gay fantasies. I now laid on the kitchen floor, smiling, covered in dick blood and with a possible concussion. I felt alive, I felt true. This is the story of my life, this is the story of how I came to be. I am Insurrection.
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