I've put up with a lot, but this is the end. How fitting that it's the last day of the year. I can't take anymore, it's as simple and idiotic as that. After all, I have to look at myself in the morning. There's a mirror in the hallway right outside my bathroom. I can't reach the bathroom without seeing myself, don't you understand? Sorry, I told myself I wouldn't shove anyone today. After I shoved my doctor he told me that too much shoving was a potential source of lower back pain.

Your strange habits and questionable morals. The way you flinch when the refrigerator suddenly begins to hum. Your weird thing about shiny fabrics. I saw you licking the scrotum of that burly factotum, I saw you teasing the glans of a plumber called Hans. Let's not talk about that fetish porno stash I found in the pantry behind all those dented cans of creamed corn you bought on sale and never even ate one of. Those horrible tapes, those German shit-eating films. I'm not sure I can endure your ardor for ordure. That's another thing: It's not just the infidelities and the creepy fixations, it's the fact that you make sure they suggest cheap bits of doggerel, you know I can't stand these lousy rhymes and you also know I am powerless to stop thinking them. You can't help yourself, it's a form of emotional abuse for you to foist these rhymes on an obsessive-compulsive person who's prone to stress-induced logorrhea. Now my eyelid is pulsing, fucking great. Thanks. Listen, just get your stuff and get out, okay? I mean it. Take those German shit-eating films and go find yourself another chump. Oh hell, I can fucking hear my blood circulating again, do you hear that? It's deafening. I need to lie down. Just leave, do us both a favor. And take your damn corn with you.