I was born in the backseat of a speeding Taco Bell delivery truck—no doctor, just a manager yelling about inventory. Raised by raccoons in the dumpster behind a 7-Eleven, I learned the art of survival: stealing Slurpees and bartering scratch-off lottery tickets. At age 4, I built my first multi-level marketing scheme. By 7, I had a pyramid of kindergartners selling crayons under the brand “Color for Cash.”

Life was good until the incident at Chuck E. Cheese. I bet my entire crayon fortune on an air hockey game and lost. By age 10, I was working as an underground yo-yo champion in unsanctioned tournaments. My moves—like the "Chaotic Pretzel"—got me banned from three cities.

At 16, I invented a new cryptocurrency called "TrashCoin," backed entirely by empty soda cans and misplaced hopes. For a while, I was the toast of Silicon Valley. Elon Musk invited me to a party. I mistook his rocket for a porta-potty. That was the beginning of my downfall.

By 21, I was living in an abandoned Blockbuster, eating expired candy and binge-watching VHS tapes of Walker, Texas Ranger. But then I found a new calling: teaching ferrets how to play ping-pong. A mysterious venture capitalist saw my potential and funded my startup, "Ferret Force."

It all came crashing down when a ferret unionized. The lawsuits drained my fortune. Now, I’m 25, living in a van parked behind an Arby’s, selling NFTs of poorly drawn squirrels and writing inspirational LinkedIn posts. What’s the moral? Life is a Taco Bell delivery truck—sometimes, you just gotta hold on and hope the burritos don’t burst.