Chevonne’s story starts in the year 1918, when one drunk Irish asshole winked across the barroom at a drunk Irish shrew. Several generations of Irish White Trash later, the world was gifted with her presence.
Her mother cursed like a sailor all the way to the hospital, her father chugging whiskey in an effort to calm his nerves. Nervous drivers are dangerous, he always said. Chevonne was born in the middle of the day, in the middle of the summer, because she instinctively knew that her mom was going to be a raging cunt and was pretty sure this was a memorable way to say “Fuck you, ye wretched wench!” She was right, of course.
To this day, Chevonne remains both right and fucking awesome.
You’re welcome, people of Earth.