Dear American Literature,
I hate to break it to you, but this is your future:
I am an extremely passionate and productive author, and while I am positively exploding with noble and fascinating ideas, I cannot manage to clothe them (or myself) in anything even remotely tasteful. I am a somewhat relentless person, and so the best warning I can give the unfortunate society into which I was born is to brace thyself for an outright, unending assault upon all that is boring, all that is demure, all that recedes and ponders and pontificates. I am coming, America. I am soaring towards your hearts and minds like a laser guided glitter-bomb. If you strike me down, I shall only become more uncool than you can possibly imagine.
The New York Times Best Seller List better put on its cup; it’s gonna need it.