If artists often get famous posthumously, then there is only one thing for me to do—fake my own death. Or I could just wait for science to give me a clone, and kill him instead. He’ll get my credit, and I’ll get his money.

“A blanket could be used to keep your body warm. After all, your body starts coo…”

“You know what really chokes me up? Being strangled.”

“A blanket could be used to mimic the mating call of my crumpled-up clone. Isn’t…”

“A Yes-man is always a somebody. Only a No-man is a nobody.”