[Private]
I don't want your fucking goody-two-shoes God money anyway. Fucking saint. Why don't you mind your own fucking business?! Who even fucking asked you to help in the goddamn first place, huh? Go get shitfaced and fuck a stranger because god fucking knows that's all you're good for. Piece of shit.

It's like Wrath wrote out my inner monologue. Which is eerie, upsetting and unsettling all at once.

[Friends]
I could use a distraction so I don't end up at the pub.

Who wants to go bowling?!

[Viewable to his brothers(this now includes Sebastian!), Saint Joan and Saint Agatha]

I...seem to be at the New York Public Library and I have no idea how I got here or why. I just found myself sitting on one of those rolling footstools in the religion section, with a handful of Garfield comic book treasuries, staring at books on Pope John Paul II.

I don't even like Garfield. He's not very joyful.

I haven't been drinking. I don't think. I don't remember. I put the Garfield books back...

Please, don't tell Michael I am losing it?