Oh, come on. Come on, come on.
I've been waiting so long for this. Sitting in the back of his head, waiting. Crouching Tyler, Hidden Durden. Waiting for him to crack and let me out.
Deliver me from your high school memories.
Deliver me from your sick pathetic whining.
Oh, Jack, deliver me.
This shouldn't take that long. I'm so strong. I'm so ready for this. He needs me and I'm here.
So what's the holdup?
He'll crack. He'll crack.
And when he does, I'm here. Saint Tyler, ready to deliver him from single servings. From action item lists. From Ikea catalogues.
Me, I'm already working nights for him.
Flipping reels in dark, hot rooms.
Serving the Cadillacs and the chiffon nightmares, tall as cities.
Me, I'm already making soap and wrapping it up pretty.
But this isn't enough.
I want Jack. I want Jack. I want you, Jack. Like Uncle Sam.
You're so ready for me. Ready to be recruited.
And you're gonna run to me. Run right into my arms.
I am everything you want, and I am right here.
Waiting for you. Wanting you. You are my mouth. You are my hands.
Waiting for you to crack and use me.