“You know, you talk too much,” he said, "in fact you all talk too much. How do you expect me to apply your make-up with all the yak- yakking? And it’s all about me, me, me; do you ever think to ask how I’m doing? I have problems of my own. I’m supposed to take these pills every day, but because they make my mind fuzzy, and I can’t do you proud with a fuzzy mind, I don’t take them. But do I get any thanks? No.
“You all think about yourselves. Is my make-up correct, are my clothes presentable, is my hair cut the way they expect it to look? and do I get any credit, No. And when you are not talking about yourselves, you want to know, _ how many people are here, is my family sitting in the front row, are there a lot of cars out front?_
“I only do this to make you people look good. I’d get paid better if I sold Avon, but instead I pamper you people, and all you can do is yak. It’s probably a good thing you’re all dead, or I might kill you.”