If I was on a train I'd probably fall off.
In the latter half of the Twentieth Century, after being asked to leave my previous life, I was born in Alabama because noone else would have me.
I witnessed the birth of the Alabama Surrealist Group, The glass veal, but was asked to leave when Mitchell Cashion observed from afar, "Does anybody know whose dog this is?" I ate the afterbirth from the godcow and visions erupted from my eyes and ears.
I then resided in a cemetery until I was rediscovered in the early nineties by an old mangy mutt living in the woods behind the public library. He thought I smelled good.
I now conduct orgies for politicians on publicly funded junkets.