There was a vast (well...if you were from the forest...idk) conspiracy of my fellow college students not involved with you all trying to ignore and isolate me while having me get into you and having you get into me that wanted me to kill myself by compounding their suffering into me by laughing at me every time we were to get together, such that when I get to Hollywood I wouldn't get the famous, beautiful punk rock supermodels I so obviously fit with as a punk rock drummer, but would look like a creep and a failure and they'd continue laughing and maybe even get a few of you as wives, while I am supposed to commit suicide and feel bad, where I actually feel blissful and enlightened untouched by them, as it were.
