One time I was three years old. I know it is hard to believe, but I was. And when I was three years old, I was a picky little bugger. I would never eat my refried beans. No matter what my Uncle Stew promised me, I would not clean the brown mess of beans off of my plate. He gave me a new bike, and I refused. He gave me a Megator with Clenched Fist Action, and I turned my nose up. He got so frustrated with me that he decided to FORCE FEED me the refried beans. I would have none of that! When his head was turned, I squatted over my plate and dropped a big, corny deuce. "Uncle Stew will never make me eat these beans now," I thought snarkily. Boy, was I ever wrong. He didn't even notice the new brown lump; it was rather bean-like in shape and consistancy. He forced me to eat that entire plate, and he would have no if's, and's, or but's about it. I ate that whole plate, and hot damn if I didn't fall in love with the refried beans right then and there. The fact that I fell in love with the hot, fresh feces sample was simple psychological conditioning. Ever since that day, I've made it my mission to introduce fecophilia to each and every young lady who comes my way.
One time I was six years old. I was a little tall, a little short, and a whole lot of in-between. I didn't have many friends, and the ones I did have were only using me for my body. So one day I was on the playground, grasping in the way I always do at the monkey bars. I told myself. "Some day! Some day, Mike Troxell, you will be able to cross the monkey bars." Little did I know what was in store for me. Little Billy came up to me and said, "Mike, we encourage you to smoke this doobie." And did I do it? Yes. And I went to jail and was brutally raped in my anus. That's what encouragement gets you. It gets you a swift and painful assfucking. And that is why you shouldn't go to your school formal.