Portrait-Robot guillotine

Lamentable reader: will try to say some autobiographical words, just to explain the how's and the why's of my erratic behavior, and also the chains that enslave me, dear reader, hypocritical reader, my sibling.
My parents got married in the latest 60s, some years later I was born, when my mother was 35, my father was older, I think, although I had two fathers, two nationalities, two passports, two birth certificates: strange how I hadn't two dicks.

The family came from the mountains of Cangues (d'Tinéu), minimum village, lost somewhere in the western depths of Asturies, northern Spain: the comarque of Cangues is inhabited by elves, giants, nymphs, dwarves, harpies, phantasmal spectres, ondines, banshees and any sort of hirsute creatures, who share brusquely the environment with the few humans (hirsute too) who dare to live over there since the dawn of times.

The weather of the comarque is hot and dry, the winters are polar though, and these peculiar characteristics arouse, dare one say, a rather laconic, if not brutal idiosyncrasy on the aboriginal human of the zone, and according to said idiosyncrasy I was raised: the only vocable I knew until my eleventh year of life was "MU", moment when I started going to school.
 
Due to a rampant and strange ability to read everything at high speed, I turned into an unbearable prick in two years, since my first scholar incursion, and realising about the animality of my family, I started treating them with a patronising, almost condescending tone, situation that reached its last straw when I started walking them, tied like caniches, all over the neighbourhood.
 
Searching for something of that primeval thrill, I decided to reply to the call of the blood, and traveled world, toward that old Asturies, to see what the fuck.
The world turned into a small handkerchief to me, but I had to catch a low cost flight by Gadafi Airlines, the flight was a bit risky, we had 9 stopovers, including Kuwait, Central African Empire and the Communist Republic of Boleslawa, the plane almost fell into the ocean, but everything was pretty alright.

Just arrived to Cangues d'Tinéu, I had to fight against two powerful dwarves, a muscular giant, and a menacing and evil black-fairy, monsters that finally I could beat, thanks to a thing called Magnum 44.
 
Not to name three harpies who everyday passed by, flying and shitting on my meal (I was living in the wilderness back then, in January, with -25ºc): 
with a mechanical device I could finally catch and tie those annoying harpies, and tied, I took them -myself- to the council of Cangues d'Tinéu, giving them to the only police officer of the comarque, who put the harpies under arrest.
 
Let's add that in the principality of Asturies, there are only 5 police officers, because it's a very tranquil region: the only problem is the numerous quantity of mythologic beings who over populate the province, and who, often, arouse incidents, mostly due to their primitive, bestial instincts.
 
Besides, the rainy condition of the mountain jungles of the province...such humidity, turn ogres, fairies, giants and elves into lecherous and perverted creatures, frequently: is not seldom seen the national army intervening to quench the appetite for sex and violence of these abominable desperadoes who, after all, are citizens, and vote.
 
Already is said in the Asturian proverb: "Like ogre fucking you, like elf breaking your arse", and such atmosphere of permanent violence and scandal turned the region into the most retarded part of the country.
Besides this (aggressive environment and personal background that one way or another influenced my whole existence), I am currently starting a pitiful artistic career as musician, although my merseybeat a Go-Go is barely appreciated in Asturies, due to the age of the population, usually older than 90, being the oldest population of the Milky Way: some Asturian humans can live until the 190, 250 and even 300 years, with a good diet.
 
As soon as I arrived to the town called Xixón, had to fight a tremendous marine cyclop, which appeared suddenly from the sea, and soon reached the beach, either decided to crush me under his kilometric palms, or to abuse of my anal smoothness.

I reminded a Mac Gyver's trick, and acted at high speed: with my keys, a cord I saw on the sand, some whale's crap and a dead seagull I built a boomerang in 6 seconds, and threw it at the cyclop, the flying weapon hitted his head so bad that it was like a guillotine, and his huge head fell on the sand with a dumb noise.
I still have the head embalmed, in my room, the problem is that the head of the cyclop fills the room completely, and I cannot enter: I solved this sleeping in the fridge.

Considering the next steps in my career, maybe could turn my art into something more shocking, like Goebbels said: "Lie, lie: something will remain", I was considering start making 'noise' music a la Masonna, or Merzbow; or maybe paintings with monkey shit.
 
Time will tell, my esteemed.