I have a nasty habit of eating one particular fruit to the point of paralysis. It takes me weeks to get over it. The last time it was [grapes]. I bought twelve pounds of [grapes] and ate them between Friday and Saturday. I went to three different stores and finished their supply. Friday and Saturday are my working days. I get bored. I start eating. It's become my occupation de facto. The job description just shifted. I could have put it on a resume. Then the fruit thing happened. Now it's about the fruit. A new fruit each week. I'm suicidal, really. No one will take me seriously, but I'm killing myself. The [grapes] were almost the end for me. How many pounds of [grapes] can one man eat before he bursts? What if it were watermelon? Or kiwi fruit?

Kiwi is the armpit of the fruit family. Now, I like armpits. When someone says, I’ve just been to the armpit of California, I wanna go. It’s my favorite part of the human anatomy. If I died from eating twelve pounds of kiwi I’d be happy, cause at least I had myself an armpit. Herein lies the poverty of my affluence. Where's my bible? I've got to read my bible. Ezekiel. No, Exodus. I don't know. I need to start over from the beginning. Start fresh. Renew. Recoil. Probably throw up.

Okay. I can do this. One more day. I can live through one more day. I know the perfect guava stand.

But I need that bible. Eccleisiastes, maybe?