Hyperbolic Quasi Autobiographical Prevarication

Hyperbolic quasi autobiographical prevarication... caricature sketch of person best known to yours truly What began as an honest to goodness attempt to craft personal truthful profile evolved into a fictional poem manifested into the following. Despite the onslaught of paparazzi, I (an eccentric kindhearted sexagenarian - born January xiii, mcmlix at The Christ Hospital within Mount Auburn, Ohio) instantaneously shied, blinked away from the spot (klieg) lights, and avoided crowdsource most of my iv and lx orbitz round the earth mainly on account of being gifted with introvertedness somewhat minimized by bottle fed powder milk then subsequently licking, gnawing (actually gumming), and chomping on biscuits, which magical and top secret ingredients (heavily guarded courtesy Norwegian bachelor farmers) gave this once painfully shy person indomitable, formidable, and creditable courage to face fearful fixes such as getting up out of bed first thing in the morning and crafting a poem.. Posthumous fame and fortune will launch then rocket one veritable unknown aspiring, inspiring, outgoing and unflagging wordsmith (legend in his own mind) unwittingly slated to shunt next of kin into the pantheon of storied poets even feeble attempts at his mediocre reasonable rhymes feebly attempting to communicate a not so stellar existence punctuating (while dragon coccygeal tailbone pronounced along the boulevard of broken dreams), a battle of life waged against being trumpeted as some freak of nature (a controversial incontrovertible standard compact prodigal son) birthed courtesy éminence grise famous prolific father, who begat him - unnamed de jure heir to the family fortune/empire - longevity of libido potion, when said parent a centenarian far beyond (where's the beef) viz chronological virility age severely testing scant minority, when seething hormonal fluid loosed into chamber of secretes (think fecund female) and pushing biological envelope in situ regarding outer limits when males can still procreate versus majority doddering, hobbling, and lobbying along lovely bones, when their get up and go got up and went into those twilight zone of years. Invariably many an older gent sought to lay claim as doppelgänger of humble fellow, whose countless progeny incorporated a zip code unto themselves, and for an unnamed dollar figure (one comprising many zeros and commas) small dollop would be sold to highest bidder. Meanwhile, or until that futuristic manifest destiny I currently sequester myself within cupboard workspace within one bedroom man cave labeled b44 as flickering candlelight casts dark shadows across the outer limits of the twilight zone soon to silently pronounce the figurative curtain call on another mundane day, no different than previous, nor promising variation on a theme of ennui (self quarantine against 10000 maniacs) following twenty four hour time frame witnessed by mine feeble scratchings across the rocky surface doing double duty as crude table and writing surface since yours truly lacks for paper pencil or electronic device. Lack of formal education found me forced to teach yours truly reading, writing, and arithmetic while I hibernate until the conclusion of total mortal kombat allows, enables, and provides me chance close encounters of the third kind ideally to be fruitful and multiply amidst dystopian landscape.