In a sea of the diversely mentally ill, you have somehow come out on top. Of all of the guys you could possibly get, you got the only one who's actually murdered someone in cold blood, and will do so again. Maybe that's a sign that you're a problematic figure. Maybe that's a sign that your life is The Room, and you're its Johnny, fed up with this world and on the brink of... something. Maybe that's just a sign that you really, really need some antidepressants, and a good homoerotic relationship. But no matter what, at the end of the day, despite doing your best by life, you've ended up with the highly coveted title of The Poor Little Meow Meow. All at once needy, easily offended, sarcastic, kind, warm, doting, closed off, too open, too trusting, and not trusting enough to ever get close to someone, you're a time bomb waiting for that One Bad Day that the Joker told us about. You are not living in a society. You are the society. Welcome to your twisted mind.
