John Kennedy Toole

I am at the moment writing a lengthy indictment against our century. When my brain begins to reel from my literary labors, I make an occasional cheese dip.

Apparently I lack some particular perversion which today's employer is seeking. 

Is my paranoia getting completely out of hand, or are you mongoloids really talking about me?

You could tell by the way he talked, though, that he had gone to school a long time. That was probably what was wrong with him.

I mingle with my peers or no one, and since I have no peers, I mingle with no one.

The day before me is fraught with God knows what horrors.

I refuse to "look up." Optimism nauseates me. It is perverse. Since man's fall, his proper position in the universe has been one of misery.

Stop!' I cried imploringly to my god-like mind.

I avoid that bleak first hour of the working day during which my still sluggish senses and body make every chore a penance. I find that in arriving later, the work which I do perform is of a much higher quality.

My life is a rather grim one. One day I shall perhaps describe it to you in great detail.