In my Rorschach ink-blot test I easily recognized the Moth Man who has been trying to eat my soul since my childhood. But I told the doctor I only saw my mother having sex. I like to make him happy.

On Wednesdays I feature an older card and then spend the rest of the day trying to pass myself off as a credible researcher at Harvard Medical School. I carry a clipboard and say things like, "We're making progress. I think we have reasons to feel optimistic." Sooner or later they're going to let me play with the bodies.