THE YEAR WAS 2081, and everybody was finally equal. They weren't only equal before God and the law. They were equal every which way. Nobody was smarter than anybody else. Nobody was better looking than anybody else. Nobody was stronger or quicker than anybody else. All this equality was due to the 211th, 212th, and 213th Amendments to the Constitution, and to the unceasing vigilance of agents of the United States Handicapper General.
Women who work for escort agencies that assign them out to prostitution dates at sushi restaurants know how to eat with chopsticks, and beyond that they are in every other way identical to other prostitutes. They’re not better looking; they’re not smarter; they’re not classier; they’re not more charming. They probably give more blowjobs than any reasonable woman, right? And they are empty inside, but it’s also society’s fault.
You may be more talented than me. You might be smarter than me. And you may be better looking than me. But if we get on a treadmill together, you are going to get off first or I am going to die. It's really that simple. I'm not going to be overworked.
I don't think, generally speaking, people become writers because they were the really good, really cool, attractive kid in class. I'll be honest. This is our revenge for people who were much better looking and more popular than us. I was a bit like that, I suppose.