monologue raze a recording i haven't listened to since the year it was made. my voice: "here's the story of my fucking life. mr. frighetty ... i can't even talk. mr. frighetto asked me to get some fucking duct tape." someone interrupts me. the sound cuts out. but i know what i want to say. i couldn't find any duct tape, so i brought him a roll of masking tape instead. he yelled at me like i'd done something unforgivable. he didn't tell me i was stupid. he didn't have to. i knew he was thinking it. i duck into an empty classroom. my voice again: "my life is a piece of shit. i don't know why i am alive if this is what my life is supposed to be like. it's just ... shit. i'm all fucked up. my mother's a motherfucking bitch. my stepfather's a motherfucking asshole. my aunt's a motherfucking tart. my grandmother's a motherfucking wilted prune. and that's just part of the story. going crazy. my life stinks. everything stinks. so god should just kill me now if this is what it's going to have to be like. thank you. that's all i have to say." i walk into the hall, snap my fingers, and sing: "oh, i've got a big bag of bologna in the back seat of my car. and if i eat all that bologna, it won't get me very far. because if i like bologna, i'll eat some minestrone." i couldn't drive even if i wanted to. i'm thirteen. 230709 what's it to you? who go blather from