There is something stark and menacing to say about disillusionment. Preachers and mothers, kind hearted they both are in their steads, warn impressionable youth of the dangers of losing faith or spending too much hope too soon. I spent everything so fast that the only recourse I had was in filling the very voids within my arteries with a species of worm, which only grows in the melons found in the West Saharan walls. An unexplainable and unexpected side effect, which resulted from this discovery-that such creatures can live just as well under skin as under sand, is that in hushed carrier tones they speak to their host. I considered myself not infected, but blessed by the grace of a hideous nature from shoes. Upon returning to the states and dodging quarantine by hiding all of my new friends within the confines of my beard, I set out to hear their story-of a disgraced emperor whose closest were too enamored and fear struck to question any word he gave. I was that emperor, and this is my story. "If you expected anything but pretentious mush out of McWillie, then you deserve whatever you get. One could derive a higher quality literary effort from a squirrel monkey infected with tertiary syphilis and set up with a methotrexate and wood alcohol IV. But that would at least have some"-Christopher Hughes
评价“The Patient”