*Our hero stands naked, staring at himself in his bathroom mirror*

>You're nothing! You're a fucking fraud! I walked Thomas Pynchon to the coke dealer in 1999! You're writing a novel? You can't even write a short story to save your fucking life! You have no concept of metatext or pentarhythms! You're a tadpole, lost in the pacific, thinking yourself an Orca! You should fucking kill yourself!