I want to say up front that I know what I’ve done is wrong because I’ve been told it’s wrong — “inexcusable” and “actually criminal” I believe were the words — but please listen while I make weak excuses for it anyway. Also, I am largely composed of empty cereal boxes and banana peels.

I want you to understand that when all of these “incidents” took place it was a different time. Things were different back then! Just everything about then was different from now. For one, now sucks. Secondly, back in those different times I was still just a whole unopened can of soup on a grocery store shelf and you know what was great about those days? Glorious goddamn silence. God I miss those shelves. All those cans shutting the hell up like that.

But now here I am, having to put on this public charade of being disappointed in myself. When actually I’m quite pleased with how I’ve been able to do whatever the hell I’ve wanted, using other human beings as vending machines to dispense whatever pleasures I’ve desired, while also being continuously elevated into higher and higher positions of power. Something else I’m proud of? The way my handle can carry even the heaviest loads as well as the way my patented FLEX design expands to accommodate ever-increasing amounts of baloney. Also, my dog got hit by a car when I was seven and I’ve never really gotten over that.

I would like to ask for privacy during this challenging time as well as total blind trust in whatever I say next. If you could identify with or empathize with me in any way, that wouldn’t hurt either. One more thing, I’d really prefer it if you put coffee grounds and fruit and vegetable scraps in the compost instead. Thank you in advance.

I am currently seeking treatment for my illness because that’s what I’ve been told I have to say. No way could this simply be a situation of me taking advantage of my privilege and being endlessly supported by a power structure in the pursuit of maximizing profits and intimidating victims. Ha! Don’t make me laugh. Ha-ha! Also, throughout my life I have loved both cats and dogs but I just want to come out now as an avid dog lover. I mean, at least dogs return your love and they’re not the least bit shy about it. Cats are traumatizing in their coldness and likely to blame for most of what I’ve done.

I would also like to request that you keep me out of your headlines and off of your Jezebel sites because I deserve a level of compassion and consideration that I certainly never provided my victims. I look forward to faking my way through whatever bullshit clinic I’ll be checking into. I also look forward to being taken out to the curb and left there because with all the media attention it’s been difficult to leave my house and get some fresh air.

I’d like to reiterate that I am in the grip of some sort of “addiction” or “dependency” because I think it’s important to bastardize the language of mental illness for my own gain. Let’s face it, people with actual mental illnesses have had a pretty easy go of seeming legit and believable to the culture at large. Obviously none of this could just be a case of me being a straight up piece of predatory human garbage with no moral compass whatsoever. How am I supposed to know you’re not supposed to stick your dick against, on, or in other people whenever you feel like it, without their consent, and actually often against their will which they expressed clearly in straightforward language? Life doesn’t come with an instruction manual, guys!

I expect to be a “patient” at a “clinic” for anywhere from a couple days to two weeks max. Or I may just play a few games of ping-pong, eat some popcorn, and call it a day, who knows. From there I will be thrown ass over teakettle into the back of a garbage truck and taken to the dump where I hope to victimize the few who aren’t already aware of my open secret. Moving around and being placed in new target rich environments with the consent (there’s that word again! Ugh!) of those who know exactly what I’m all about is what I do best.

I’ve appreciated your full and undivided attention as well as all of the Edible Arrangements® I’ve received from prominent men in literally every industry although, not gonna lie (ha ha! For a change!), I’ve saved a spot on my desk for one from you, Donny! Be there for me, bro! But just between you, me, and that TMZ chase vehicle, I would’ve preferred your full and undivided attention along with some chloroform and privacy blinds instead.

In conclusion, a girl I had a crush on in seventh grade told me I looked like a grasshopper and my mom used to cut my PB&Js into two pieces on the diagonal instead of into four even squares the way I liked it. I don’t think I need to spell it out for you. Also, trash day used to be Thursday but that has recently increased to every single day and sometimes two or three times a day and it’d be great if women would stop looking so happy about that.