During my adolescence I was the only boy in my class who had to wear a paper bag for school photographs. This was because of the acne.
It was so bad a pizza boy tried to deliver me, and it was with great difficulty that I persuaded him that my nose was not a pepperoni slice.
I tried acne creams but they evaporated on contact. It was also difficult to learn to shave when the mirror kept shattering.
My only friend at this time was my dog. He never ran away when he looked at me, or fell over and expired like my ill-fated rabbit.
This was because he was blind. His name was Rex.
I would take Rex out for walks; I would walk along the pavement, and he would walk into walls and lamp-posts. He was a bit of a babe magnet, was Rex; unfortunately, both he and the babes were negatively charged.
When I was fifteen, I had a girlfriend for two weeks. Then she chewed through the chains and escaped. It was then I began to see the merits of a life of celibacy.
I decided to become a monk.