don’t be the fat man’s trained monkey. without you doing backflips whenever he whistles, he’d have no show and have to shine shoes or give blowjobs in the park. he’s well on his way there already. this just isn’t his world any more. smile and chuckle at him with pity like you would with a person who is desperately in need of professional help, which – hey! he most definitely is.
dream of him dying lonely and unloved in a trailer park surrounded by yellowed press clippings. yesss! it gives me a warm feeling, it does.
Wait…why do you have to “dream” about this? Isn’t that just going to become reality when that last jack-in-the-box crosses his maw?
Survive, man.