Try a little tenderness, you magniloquent bastard

It is Sunday evening; I am not the same man I was Friday night. For it was in the witching hours of Freya's honoured day that Nigel Tewksbury as you know him died in a Soho brothel. I had spent the day smoking hashish and reading Le Petit Prince while languishing semi-nude (no bottoms) beside a secluded rill. The drugs had almost tricked me into believing I was inhabiting some kind of earthly paradise, but then, all of a sudden, there was a windy chill that awoke me to the weird horrors of reality. I suddenly remembered it was garbage day and that it was my responsibility to take the rubish to the curb (as Helga is in Las Vegas or God-knows-where).

And thus Harmony was destroyed by Noise (it is certainly one of history's sad trends, wouldn't you say?). Anyhow, I was so upset at being awoken to Facts that I decided, To Hell with it, Nigel, let's go to the brothel--and let us make love to the most deformed prostitute available. Life is a freak show--let's bring the carnival into the bedroom.

(Forgive me for using the royal "We," but I was feeling rather bombastic at the time).

Her name was Chastity--can you believe it?!--and she was barely four foot tall and had no teeth. She was one of those whores who liked to talk afterwards--I normally despise the kind--but for some reason I listened to her because I was so full of boredom and insomnia that I couldn't even be bothered to ignore the bitch. She informed me that she was married to some fat dullard and that she had a teen-aged son. She said she prostituted to buy her son a computer as he was technologically-inclined. And I responded by saying, "Where can I reach him? He can have a go at fixing my printer."

And the worst thing happened here. I actually cared! I could afford the best fucking technician on the continent but instead I hired the son of a freakish whore! And as I let Chastity go down on me a second time--more out of charity than desire--I thought to myself, "Try a little tenderness, you magniloquent bastard." And at that moment, I experienced a profound jouissance--damn it, it was terrifying. I fell asleep wanting to be a better man, and I realized I can be a real asshole sometimes--for God's sake, I decapitated a gibbon not too long ago! And that night I dreampt I reassembled old Harold and he went swinging through the trees like he was new. His smiling gibbon's face will haunt me forever, the damn ghost!

And as I left in the morning, I gave the sleeping Chastity a kiss on the cheek that may have even been sincere.

Dear Abby, I am full of confusion.