I’ve taken to my sickbed. I cough a death rattle. The grim reaper left Whitney and took up residence near my chamber pot. My next call is for last rights or the leech vendor. If only I hadn’t watched every movie in the joint, if only there was something other to do than watch the endless coverage of Whitney-gate, if only the grim reaper knew other topics of conversation than Whitney, if only I felt like masturbating, if only someone would kill me now. KILL ME NOW!