I make up symptoms to get unnecessary hospital treatment.
Because I’m a writer.
I don’t bathe for years and scratch smiley faces in the dirt on my body. I photograph the faces and send them to random strangers through the post.
Because I’m a writer.
I drink booze until my soul intrudes on the secret meetings between God and Satan.
Because I’m a writer.
When my dog died I had sex with it.
Because I’m a writer.
I hang out with tramps who I only speak mock Chinese to.
Because I’m a writer.
I traveled forty miles west and tried to kill a man with a pencil.
Because I’m a writer.
I dress up as a woman and offer sex to men. When we get into an alley I take a dump in front of them and run off screaming “RAPE!”
Because I’m a writer.
I once babysat two kids and I injected heroin in front of them and just laughed.
Because I’m a writer.
I didn’t touch those kids though.
Because I’m not a very good writer.