NOTE FROM WALLACE:
Welcome to the end of this amazing book serial from Anthony Rhody:
Does This Stress Make Me Look Fat? (NOT A MANIFESTO)
Read the full thing here.
So there you have it, Doctor.
As you can see, I need full-time medical attention including a Vicodin drip and a round-the-clock male nurse who abandoned his porn career only because he had gotten too popular.
If I don’t learn to assimilate with people more effectively there is no telling what may become of me.
I need to find something to become addicted to – something self-destructive such as stuffing my pie-hole with junk, driving drunk, injecting myself with things that may eventually kill me because I’m convinced things are not going the way they should.
Something that will make me more like commoners.
As it has been for a long time now, it’s as if I’m not even from this planet…
Maybe I am here to help people, tell them what it is that’s wrong with them and how they might improve themselves.
Yes, yes, that’s it.
I am not the one that needs help.
I am the one that should be helping others.
I could set up maybe a card table over on the sidewalk with all the foot traffic.
I could make a sign that says something like I’LL BE THE JUDGE OF THAT! and people would sit down and ask me questions and I would give them advice whether they think they need it or not.
That’s it! I shall use my powers for good!
You know what, Doctor
This has been a very therapeutic exercise.
I don’t need your help at all so you can go take your degree, roll it up real tight and cram it!
You’re probably not even a real Doctor.
You make me vomit.
I ought to punch you right in your fat face!
Good day to you, sir!
I will see myself out.