eat me. drink me. wear me.
It's not its job. It's not how much money It has in the bank. It's not the car it drives. It's not the contents of its wallet. It's not its fucking khakis.It's the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world.well, alice is inci's tormented spleen. Don't you hear It whispering; "Hey, you created me. I didn't create some loser alter-ego to make myself feel better. Take some responsibility!"Welcome to the Fight Club.