I was born in the house my father built. But when the blue-gloved minions of a shadowy government agency showed up, demanding to implant Twinkie DNA into my cerebellum as part of a lengthy series of experimental brain surgeries, Luther Burbank decided that for my own safety I should be sent away to rural Saskatchewan, where I spent the next ten years being raised in secret by renegade mimes. Then, after I attended the Royal Martian War College . . .
