“How come every squitty little shitty snotty bastard knows my name?”

“At least we both know how shitty the world is. You wearing abeard as a mask to disguise it. I wearing my tired smile. Idon't see how you do it. One hundred thousand universitystudents marching with you. TowardA necessity which is not love but is a name. ”

“Forgive the pessimism, if not the sonority. But I know how much you demand from a thing, you little bastard.”

“Somewhere, far, far away, there's a shitty island. An island without a name. An island not worth giving a name. A shitty island with a shitty shape. On this shitty island grow palm trees that also have shitty shapes. And the palm trees produce coconuts that give off a shitty smell. Shitty monkeys live in the trees, and they love to eat these shitty-smelling coconuts, after which they shit the world's foulest shit. The shit falls on the ground and builds up shitty mounds, making the shitty palm trees that grown on them even shittier. It's an endless cycle.”

“They were sitting in their nice apartments or dorm rooms reading the latest Haruki Murakami story while I was sitting in a shitty little ramshackle house reading a used copy of Erskine Caldwell's God's Little Acre. They weren't bad people. They all did volunteer work, voted Democrat and believed in the goodness of humanity. I voted Democrat, needed Habitat for Humanity to come to my house and knew from personal experience the shittiness of humanity because I was shitty myself.”

“Sin Fever," Wraith chimed in with a little too much enjoyment. Sin Fever? They'd named the fucking disease after her? Bastards.”