…Two days ago, I thought I had a heart attack. I was taken to Jamaica Hospital (a cesspool that would shame a mange-ridden street rat if it were taken there). The doctors are actually professional and seem to have received their medical degrees from accredited schools, but the fucking place is a Dickensian nightmare. Old whores with sores, toothless crack heads in urine-soaked pants . . .people just like me!
They checked me out and discharged me. It seems as though I am suffering from an aversion to loneliness. I haven’t gotten laid in over three years. I am broke. My cock sucking son stole from me and has abandoned me once again. My cunt wives took what they could grab (all 5 of them, especially the last Gypsy cunt who picked the flesh off me like a ravenous vulture). I am on 15 different medications, all of which cause me to be delusional, nauseous, and suicidal. I am too much of a wimp to kill myself. I am just waiting to die.
My lawyer, Charles, called me dozens of times upon my return from the Snake Pit. He thought I bit the dust. If it weren’t for him, I would just evaporate. He cares about me and has resuscitated my life on a number of occasions. He gave me the number to get Food Stamps. He also told me that I should qualify for Section 8 housing (that’s what they offer to those people in this country who are living just above the same standard of a Calcutta Untouchable)…