Scorned by humanity, I was adopted by a group of chimpanzees who accepted me as one of them. Later they discovered I was a writer and booted me out of the tribe
There is no irony quite like listening to someone condemn "judgmental people" while they systematically throw everyone else under the bus—granting themselves the only free pass in the room.
Conversations often devolve into verbal autopsies when others become the subject.
We’re not as far removed from the pillory as we think—perceived civility is often just a façade for savagery.
Stress does things to a man.
A writer.
That’s what I call myself.
And... desperate.
I could have passed out on a beach.
From drinking.
And — the coconut that fell on my head during a late-night stroll....
-awkward pause-
The people at rehab — they said I’m making progress.
I think my story just took a sharp left turn. See what you think?
Sanity... is difficult to define. So is crazy.
I may be tottering between the two.
My grasp on mine—may be slipping.
I think?
Am I crazy?
I admit, I’m finding it harder to... convince myself.
Whrrrr.
Whrrrr—high-pitched, relentless.
The blender.
Silhouetted against the kitchen window.
Me.
A wry smile in the window’s reflection.
Revenge.
How sweet the taste.
Snapped?
Maybe I did.