I was born in a women's prison in Mississippi. My mother was serving a life sentence for shooting her boyfriend's roommate. According to court documents, her defense was, "I was aiming at my boyfriend." My father was a prison guard who would later in life write and illustrate a children's book about a rooster who enjoyed the attention of many chickens. The book was short-listed for a Newbery Award. I was taken from the prison and sent to live with my maternal grandparents who eked out a meager living selling bathtub thalidomide to circus folk. My early years were uneventful except for being forced to stay up way past my bed time in order to "keep an eye out for angry circus folk."
Desperately unhappy as a teenager, I was sent to a therapist who determined that I was possessed by deeply disturbed spiritual beings that had been imprisoned in a volcano billions of years ago and then blasted with hydrogen bombs by an evil alien warlord. After the twisted spirits were successfully purged from my body, my depression magically vanished, only to be replaced by self-loathing, arrogance and ulcerative colitis. This, of course, provided a natural segue into my current life as an IT guy.
As a footnote, one of the tormented beings pulled from my body went on to unsuccessfully run ASPD for several years.