Congratulations Bumblefuck!

You’ve had a rough childhood. Your momma left when you were young and your daddy drank too much and didn’t have much learning to pass on to you, so most of his lessons came from the back of his hand and the thwak of a bottle against your skull.

But it made you realize how important it is to reach for your dreams and never give up, and that’s what you’ve done. You’ve been working six hour days at Wendy’s while trying your all at school and as a result you’ve got a cushy scholarship and enough pocket money to get you all set at NYU next year.

Which is why, in a few months, it’ll be such a tragedy when Jenny, your high school sweetheart, and you are riding on her pa’s ATV when it flips and hurls you both into a ditch filled with radioactive waste dumped there by Halliburton. Your girlfriend will, by all appearances, wither and die, along with the unborn child you had put in her womb a week and a half earlier (sorry you had to find out this way, but we thought you’d want to know!)

You, however, will be miraculously unharmed. You’ll spend the rest of your summer mourning and reading French books. Your father will be torn on how to respond to this, feeling sympathy for you and revulsion for your love of the French. After a week and a half of blessed silence he’ll settle of calling you a faggot and ending his campaign of physical violence against you.

After the summer ends and you’ve settled into New York, you’ll still be pretty down. Down enough, in fact, to make potentially the biggest mistake of your life and face up to a pair of muggers who were trying to take your iPod.

They’ll come at you with knives, but before you know it you’ll have used a combination of folksy skills and storytelling and American gumption to subdue one of them and crush the other’s skull with your bare hands.

You’ll realize, horrified and covered in a combination of brain matter, blood, and human excrement, that the toxic chemicals must’ve given you super powers. You’ll be torn, your deep need to use these powers for the greater good opposed by a desire to do well in the school and a fear that you’ll somehow be perceived as a racist if any of the criminals you happen to beat up are of a minority.

After a lengthy period of soul searching you’ll decide that you should stick close to the NYU campus, so that you know how the social strata works and so you can get home relatively quickly. You’ll pull out an old pair of overalls, fashion a crude mask out of a bandana and call yourself Bumblefuck.

Your name will be a beacon of hope for besieged co-eds throughout the five boroughs.

Godspeed, and congratulations Bumblefuck!