Your name is KRIS. You live in a house that is covered in your MOTHER'S TCHOTCHKES and your own PILES OF USELESS SHIT. This, coupled with your inability to keep ANY SURFACE CLEAN, makes you INCAPABLE OF FINDING ANYTHING YOU NEED. Because of your inaptitude for existing in a clean environment, you are CONSTANTLY FREAKING OUT ABOUT HAVING LOST SOMETHING. You have an unruly passion for ANY HOBBY THAT MAKES YOU SEEM LIKE LESS OF SHITTY PERSON. As a future teacher, you wonder how all your HORRIBLE HABITS are going to impress upon THIS COUNTRY'S YOUTH. Your friends think you're a GOD DAMN HOT MESS but your clumsy attempts at comedy redeems you in their eyes, despite that your humor is UNCOUTH AS FUCK.
Your handle is artisticTraumatizer and you speak in a manner that is OVER-ACCENTUATED WITH THE CAPSLOCK KEY TO EXPRESS BOTH YOUR DISDAIN FOR ALL THINGS AND YOUR DIAMETRICALLY OPPOSED MIRTH FOR SAID THINGS.