Shit!

AAAAAAAAHHHHHH! So much shit to do! So little time! So much debt! So many monsters! Plots and machinations set against me from all directions!

If I am killed, I have deposited my seed in a hidden compartment in a beef freezer in Moscow. Grow another me and let the revolution continue.

The blitz is on. I hear the footsteps. How will it feel when the world slams its meaty shoulder into the small of my back? Will I cough up blood? Will I have to punt? Will the world look like Dwight Freeny?

Subsistence is a tall order. My fat reserves will keep me warm and ticking for some time, but when the lean years hit, my looks will yield to gauntness, and the creditors will suck the marrow directly out of my bones and through my pores. The vultures. The USURERS! How dare they demand recompense from me! The moneychangers! They have defiled the temple of this great nation! They have worn business suits into the Holy of Holies. They have torn down the curtain and replaced it with a variable interest rate. They purloined the Ark of the Covenant and disguised it as a mall kiosk. It displays cell phones now.

Cry Havoc! Rage against the dying of the light! Rage against the dying of my ambition! Pound it in the chest with a jackhammer, screaming "live! Live, goddamn you, live, you hand-stitched wretch! You were born of death and lunacy, so you cannot die! Igor, throw the fucking switch, you bugeyed hunchbacked fuck!"