“Nevertheless, here it is: my Hideous Admission. I’ll fess up and come clean. I’m out of the closet. I’m dead. Now don’t hold it against me.”

“Kill your­self or don’t kill your­self, but stop tor­tur­ing me. I’m try­ing to move on with my life.”

“If you’re lis­ten­ing to this, you know that I’m dead.”

“Sure, I want to look like I’m worth the ef­fort. Washed but not ironed. Clean but not pol­ished. Con­fi­dent but hum­ble.”

“Just let yourself be broken and humiliated. Just your whole life, keep telling people, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry...”

“I tell everybody, I’m tired of being jerked around. Okay? So let’s just not pretend. I don’t have fuck for a heart. You people are not going to make me feel anything. You are not going to get to me.”

“For thousands of years, human beings had screwed up and trashed and crapped on this planet, and now history expected me to clean up after everyone. I have to wash out and flatten my soup cans. And account for every drop of used motor oil. And I have to foot the bill for nuclear waste and buried gasoline tanks and landfilled toxic sludge dumped a generation before I was born.”