You fuck me, then snub me. You love me, you hate me. You show me your sensitive side, then you turn into a total asshole! Is that a pretty accurate description of our relationship, Tyler?
He was full of pep. Must've had his grande-latte enema.
We used to read pornography. Now it was the Horchow Collection.
— Now promise me.
— Ok.
— You promise?
— Yeah, I promise.
— Promise.
— I just said, I promise! What...
— That's three times you promised.
If I didn't say anything, people assumed the worst. They cried harder. I cried harder.
— We are gonna split up the week, ok? You take lymphoma and tuberculosis.
— You take tuberculosis. My smoking doesn't go over at all.
— Ok. Good. Fine. Testicular cancer should be no contest, ok.
— Technically, I have more right to be there than you. You still have your balls.
— You are kidding?
— I don't know. Am I?
[the narrator pulls a loose tooth out of his mouth]
— Fuck.
— Hey, even the Mona Lisa's falling apart.
Warning: If you are reading this then this warning is for you. Every word you read of this useless fine print is another second off your life. Don't you have other things to do? Is your life so empty that you honestly can't think of a better way to spend these moments? Or are you so impressed with authority that you give respect and credence to all that claim it? Do you read everything you're supposed to read? Do you think every thing you're supposed to think? Buy what you're told to want? Get out of your apartment. Meet a member of the opposite sex. Stop the excessive shopping and masturbation. Quit your job. Start a fight. Prove you're alive. If you don't claim your humanity you will become a statistic. You have been warned. Tyler.
Listen to me. You have to consider the possibility that God does not like you. He never wanted you. In all probability, he hates you. This is not the worst thing that can happen. We don't need him! Fuck damnation, fuck redemption. First, you have to know, not fear... Know that some day, you're gonna die.
— I got this dress at a thrift store for one dollar.
— It was worth every penny.
— It's a bridesmaid's dress. Someone loved it intensely for one day, then tossed it. Like a Christmas tree — so special, then, bam, it's on the side of the road with tinsel still clinging to it. Like a sex crime victim, underwear inside out, bound with electrical tape.