I have the feeling that everyone at every moment is always watching me, even when I can’t see anybody for miles and miles. Is it narcissism? Is it paranoia? Who knows. All I do know is that I end up doing tricks for them like this one: a backflip where I land wrong because I’m not athletic. That trick is “the bomb.”
And then, when all eyes are actually on me and I have visual confirmation of the probability that someone, somewhere just near me, is watching me, that’s when I freeze. I freeze so much that I actually start moving again. I move so much that I’m like a microwave, cooking myself, possibly missing my crisping sleeve, frozen on the inside but boiling and seething on the outside and ham’s pouring out of my mouth on a wave of molten synthetic cheese byproduct.
I am modest even when I am alone and say things like, “Boy, I wish I could do that,” and wait for a sky voice to ring down from the architecture on high and say, “Hey, man, you can do whatever you want to do!” No one ever says it, so I never do anything. I sit here and decay, wondering when someone’s going to poke me back to life and scream, “Go do something, you massive faggot” at me.
They’re probably watching me when I shit, too. Isn’t that fucking horrible? What a humiliating experience to be watched while shitting. The thought of someone looking into my toilet bowl after I obliterate it with burrito-induced diarrhea sends shivers up and down my pathetic brain stem.