I'm not crazy. Just ask anyone–anyone besides my doctor. He doesn't know what he's talking about. The man living inside the wall told me. My doctor keeps telling me that I shouldn't be hearing these voices. Well, he should just tell the man in the wall to stop talking to me. I don't control him.
My food talks to me, and for a while I just could not bring myself to eat anything. Not because I thought it was still alive. That's silly. No, what the food said was extremely interesting. Nobody explains Nietzsche like a bowl of tomato soup.
I wish I had a bowl of tomato soup to explain Nietzsche to me when I was taking that philosophy class back in college...
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