I've committed to the painful but needed act of getting once a day into the big chickens pen to check their hutch for eggs. We'd let it go and there were eggs but they'd spoiled. There's no point in me enjoying chickens without the eggs so in I went. Their pen is a metre tall and I have to squat and hunch along with my odd bod to check the sides and middle for eggs. I am also balding, Homer style, from the top.My body could be described as an egg with a light dust of hair plus limbs. I'm concious my short fat balding form looks like a number of fairy-tale characters and none of whom are good or have a good ending. They are the sport of the hero to best; the grist for their manly mill.I didn't want to rasp my tender head top along the mesh grill of the roof so I grabbed one of theboys's winter beanies and it sat like a condom tip atop my head but taut enough it stayed on.So I looked like Humpty Dumpty doing a rob, with my ski mask or balaclava rolled up atop my head ready to be lowered just before I entered with my axe handle and leaped the counter of a high street bank.I did do a rob, of eggs (or an egg), and I distracted the staff (big chickens) with a scattering of sunflower seeds so they wouldn't come after me (leave their pen before I could close it so I didn't have to round them up). Plus in my head I had a tough British crim voice so manly that jar lids would just pop off at first words said; "Now are we going to have a problem then?" (sproings, lids clatter).I read a lot of books as a kid, as you do when normal body is denied to you, and as my weird skeleton induced fatness and short I was acutely conscious in mythic terms I was the evil to be thwart. In a way that's true; I'm a technocrat in a short fat bod which makes me a distillation of objectivist blanch---a literal opposite to Randian supramen.I wouldn't have it any other way. My journey was anti anti-hero---an anti-hero that doesn't look like a Randian supraman---but I was only a hero because of my form.They say you live on in the stories they tell, the ones who knew you. I'm an anti anti-hero, the reverse Rumplestiltskin, and I live on in the stories they tell.WFTW.