gesticulating wildly with his tiny little hands, checking himself in the mirror and nodding approvingly at the larger than life figure his encephalopathic brain tells him he sees.

Working himself up into a televangelistic fever pitch until red blotches breach the armor of orange he wears as a shield against the glaringly obvious chyrons of a life lived in vacuous repose scroll across his bloated face.

"I alone!", he bellows.

"I Alone!", he roars.

"I accept no responsibility", he intones.

I know you are but what am I?, he ends.