Oh okay.
I was born in a small Germany town to a lovely dutch couple, Bertrice and Johann. I was raised Catholic and lived in a fairly non-strict household. As a boy, I would help out on family farm, usually driving to tractor or detassleing the corn. I went to school with 10 other children, as the area I grew up in was incredibly rural and it took quite a while to reach the neighbours When I was 10 the family farm went under and we were forced to move to the big city. We moved to a nice place called Oslo, Norway, but due to lack of funds we moved into a more Ghetto are of town. My parents grew bitter and tired, working menial factory jobs for 10 hours a day. They slowly drifted apart from each other, leaving me stuck in the middle trying to stay afloat. When my parents finally divorced, I went to live with my Uncle Carl, where I began attending a lovely private school. The kids were nice enough, but it wasn't really what I was used to. I couldn't be cooped up for 7 hours a day with 100 other kids, so I dropped out in year 10 of my education. I began working at a small factory on the outskirts of the Oslo ghetto, where we made mostly school products. I was stuck on the pencil line, where I fed the graphite into the wooden shaft of the pencil. I did this for about 7 years, until it began to drive me insane. I became so bitter and sad, just as parents had years earlier, so I quit and moved back to Germany near the small rural area where I was born. I started doing manual labour on farms, and was having the time of my life. I loved the smell of the outdoors and being able to feel free while working. After a few years of hard work I was able to save up enough to get my own small patch of land. I started growing beets, as that market was coming up and fast. My mother came to live with me on my small farm, due to her growing frail and old. She had the diabeetus and it was eating away at her fast. A couple months after she came winter came around and it was cold. The house had only minor insulation and no proper heating units, so mother came down with pneumonia and passed away in early March. It was hard for a while and the beet farm hadn't produced as much as I had expected in the last growing season, so it seemed as though I was going to lose the farm. That summer a horrible drought hit the area and runined most everyone's crops, but curiously my beet crop had not been affected much. Beets came a high demand then, my profits were soaring. I expanded my land and branched out to growing corn and pumpkins during the early Fall. I was able to get myself a comfy living, with multiple labourers and several barn-houses. By the time I was 45, my estate had grown immensely, I owned almost a fifth of the county. I named the estate after my dearly departed mother, Bertrice, and retired at 58. I sold off about 90% of the land I owned and made a healthy profit, enough to keep me happy until the end of my life. I bought the land where I had grown up and built a small, modest home there. I continued living out my days tending to my garden, collecting various antiques and restoring old cars. I was never one for romance or relationship, but at the age of 64 I met this wonderful number, Taylor. Taylor was very special and we got married about 2 years later. Obviously, we couldn't have children, but we did take in a few foster children now and then, to bide the time. We had them work on small tracts of land to build character and keep them out of trouble. I died in the year of 1983 at the age of 74, and my partner followed soon after in 1987.
That's about everything. Are you happy, Kestegs?
BPC jr. With work today dont think I will be back before days end so I will vote now.
