Me, Feeling. What A Concept.

Anybody Can Be Charming If They Don't Mind Faking It, Saying All The Stupid, Obvious, Nauseating Things That A Conscience Keeps Most People From Saying. Happily, I Don't Have A Conscience. I Say Them.

I Had Become A Perfect Fake Human, Saying The Stupid And Pointless Things That Humans Say To Each Other All Day Long.

I Rose To My Knees, Mouth Dry And Heart Pounding, And Paused To Finger A Rip In My Beautiful Dacron Bowling Shirt. I Pushed My Fingertip Through The Hole And Wiggled It At Myself. Hello, Dexter, Where Are You Going? Hello, Mr. Finger. I Don't Know, But I'm Almost There. I Hear My Friends Calling.

The Students We Saw Were All Bright, Attractive, And Polite, And The Teachers All Seemed To Be Smart And Dedicated, And I Began To Appreciate The Benefits Of A Private School Education. If Only I'd Had The Opportunity To Attend A Place Like This, Who Knows What I Might Have Become? Perhaps Instead Of A Mere Blood-spatter Analyst Who Slunk Away At Night To Kill Without Conscience, I Could Have Become A Doctor, Or A Physicist, Or Even A Senator Who Slunk Away At Night To Kill Without Conscience. It Was Terribly Sad To Think Of All My Wasted Potential.

And Once Again I Found Myself Wondering, As I Drifted Off To Stunned And Unbelieving Sleep:how Do These Terrible Things Always Happen To Me?