My origin story is not as cool as Wolverine, hell it’s not as cool as Rueben Studdard (remember him, he won). Life began for me in a sweat shop in Nanjing, China which is about 240 miles east of Shanghai. There, for a wage of about 7 cents an hour, I was constructed by a 12 year old former gymnast who had been deemed to old to compete in the next Olympiad. The little Communist did a great job on my body, though my face is a hot mess. Yes, I know, hot mess is sooooo Project Runway, but what do you want, I’m a bobblehead. Anywho. From China I was sent to the haven of Capitalism, the United States of America. Upon arriving I was shipped via train to Waterloo, Iowa where I was placed on a clearance shelf at the local WalMart. But a cute as a button young lady needed me, not wanted, needed and her parents forked up the bucks to take me home. A year later I was in a yard sale, sold for a quarter and ended up in Chester, South Carolina. If you never been to Chester it’s like being in Hell without all the cool kids. The trailer I lived in was little more than a cardboard box with a door and soon as rent came due I found myself being donated to Goodwill. Who donates a bobblehead? Luckily for me, the day I arrived at the Goodwill two wonderful shoppers saved me and set to a life of partying, ladies, and heavy doses of nonprescribed medication. Know me, love me, I’m BobbleHead Clay.
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