Would you like to play a game?

We’ll sit at the table on my patio, and you’ll tell me your life story.

Every time you say something stupid or boring, I’ll smack you upside the head. If my hand gets sore before you’re finished babbling, you win.

Honestly, I think you’ve got it in you to go pro.

In my most benevolent moods, all I want for you girls is a little acceptance. Some of you could be so much more than cunts, but if you’re going down that darker road, everything else will always be a detour. They seldom win, those who fight what they are; that’s what makes the fight so noble.

But when a girl finally decides her back is against the emotional wall and she’s out of options, I want her to know that there’s someone out there who understands that nobility is a heavy mantle, who enjoys helping her fantasize about shedding that mantle, and who won’t be disgusted if she eventually rips it off for real and for good.

She deserves to know that her stories are valued, that even the most worthless of things can be prized by the right collector.

I would hate being small.

I would hate having a shrill voice. I would hate the oppression of attention. I would hate desperately craving the oppression of attention. I would hate working so hard to be pretty. I would hate feeling like a victim, and how familiar and calming that feeling can become. I would hate being drawn into the special gravity of wasteful, hurtful men, knowing that they only want to see me break apart and burn up on my way down. I would hate knowing that everything I will ever love will want to feed off me or destroy me.

But I love watching you give it a try.

I’ve always dreamed of wrecking a woman’s life.

But somehow, they always beat me to it.

There’s nothing sexier than listening to pretty girls confess their mistakes.

I honestly don’t know how therapists keep their dicks in their pants.