UnBooks:American Psycho

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A picture I drew of my new best friend, Patrick.

Van Patten, is that you?

No, sorry my mistake.

You look familiar, are you handling the Fisher account with Paul Allen?


Then why the fuck am I talking to you? Get out of my fucking sight.

Wait a minute!

Do you have any cocaine?

Well why didn't you say so buddy! Get in my limo.

"This limo is awfully nice. Are you rich or something?"

Well yes, as a matter of fact. My name's Patrick Bateman. I'm a Wall Street banker at Pierce and Pearce. I work in mergers and acquisitions mostly. Based on your suit and haircut, I thought you were Luis Carruthers, the piece of shit. No offense. What make is your suit anyway? Vitton? Versace?

"Wal-Mart collection actually. I've just come back from a job interview at McDonalds."

Oh yeah, McDonalds and Morgan... I heard their stock is going crazy this year. So tell, me what skills or qualifications do you have? You an Ivy-league man?

"I used to have some high-school certificates, but I then I sold them, along with some blood, to pay my rent."

High-school? How quaint! My company is currently undergoing restructuring of a sort, due to a lot of my colleagues going on impromptu-holidays and what-not, and I feel that a man of your caliber could have a future at this company. So tell me: would you like to work in a high-pressure, corporate environment with a salary above 30k?

"Hell yes!"

Excellent. Come on up to my office, young apprentice. That blow better be good by the way. This one time, me and my buddy got ripped off with some Sweet N' Low.

"Cute secretary."

Jean's dumb as fuck, but she has a nice ass, which is more than I usually ask from my assistants.

Yeah, I guess. Jean, who happens to be in love with me, has been working here for about five years now. It's a shame no-one told her that promotions aren't for poor people. What are you waiting for? Break out the rock!

"Shit, I think I left it back at McDonalds."

Are you fucking kidding me?! It doesn't matter, I already had some with my breakfast cereal this morning.

"Are you sure it wasn't Sweet N' Low?"

Oh, ha ha! The peon made a joke. You know what else is a joke? Your last salary compared to mine! I make $300,000 a year, minimum. Are you even off welfare yet? Are you? No, I didn't think so. C'mon, let's go to lunch.

"Dude, don't we have work to do?"

... I'm thinking we should go to Dorsia for lunch. I'll tell Jean, my secretary, who happens to be in love with me, to check if they're not booked up.

"What's good here?"

For entrees, I recommend you have the swordfish meatloaf with onion marmalade. Then, you'll have the squid ravioli in a lemon grass broth with goat cheese profiteroles. Also, on the side, have a charcoal-arugola Caesar salad. Yes, that'll go down nicely. And for dessert, the tomato and pomegranate sorbet. The New York Times called it a playful but mysterious little dish.

Mmmmmmmmmm... cranberry juice.

"No offense, but everything you just recommended sounded fucking disgusting."

Well, no offense to you, my ghetto-dwelling new friend, but maybe if the height of sophistication for you wasn't the garlic bread at Pizza Hut, you'd be able to appreciate the menu more! You're ordering everything I just said, or else you can pay for your half of the bill with your spleen... carefully removed with my American Express Platinum card.

"Mmmmmmmmmmm... You could really taste the charcoal in that salad!"

I know, and the best thing is, it really gets that gag reflex going. Bulimia, buddy. GQ said that it's gonna be all the bodybuilding rage in the 90's. Wait here. There's a guy who just walked into the bathroom that I think we'll be able to score some coke off.

"Hey, you're back! Say, what are those strange stains on your jacket?"

What, these? The dealer accidentally spilled his cranberry juice on me when he was giving me the coke. That's the fifth time this month I've had to get this jacket dry-cleaned. It's a Valentino signature edition with mock-tortoise shell buttons and an extra-large pocket square. I got it half-off from Roselito's, but it was still expensive.

"Wow, I didn't need to know that. Are you Jewish or something?"

Hey, just cool it with the anti-Semitic remarks! C'mon let's get back to my office.

"So, I take it you don't do any work at all?"

Listen, I worked my ass off to get to this kind of salary. Do you seriously think they'd pay me $300,000 a year just to watch TV all day and eat in expensive restaurants?

"From what I've seen, I'd have to say yes."

You've got a negative attitude, you know that. That's why you can't get a fucking job. If you had my kind of money, you wouldn't know what to do with it. And that's why you have none. Here's a dollar bill, use it to snort your half of the blow.

"Oh man, I'm so high"

I know. The last time I was this high, I tried to eat some guy's head.


What? Hey, let's go pick up a prostitute. You're filming though.

"I'm Filming?"

Great, so glad you're on board. You have no idea how difficult it was to fuck a prostitute whilst holding the camera myself. Here, have some more drugs.

"Damn, dude! Two hookers at once? You're like my hero or something. Can I have one?"

Sure, buddy... if you can pay for her yourself. HA HA! God, I love taunting poor people. Keep the camera rolling Spielberg. And make sure you're getting my entire physique into frame; I swear to God I will rip out one of your eyeballs if all you've filmed are these prostitutes' tits.

Damn, I look good. This prostitute must be so happy I'm fucking her.

"Patrick, it's been five hours now and I've finally run out of film. I'm starting to feel the after-effects from all that coke we did.
Can I go home and get some sleep?"

Five hours? Is that all? Huh, felt longer. Good, I guess I can finish up now. My guess is you're homeless, so feel free to sleep on my couch. Before you go, do you mind taking that wire coat hangar and twisting it into small sharp pieces? Thanks.

"Good morning Patrick. What kind of cereal have y... Oh my god! I'm so sorry! I didn't realize you were in the shower!"

I said don't touch yourself, damn it!

That's cool. Ah, I can see you're admiring my extensive collection of facial and hair-care products. You can stay and watch me apply them if you want. Just don't touch yourself.

In the shower, I use a water-activated gel cleanser, then a honey-almond body scrub, and on the face an exfoliating gel scrub. Then I apply an herb mint facial masque which I leave on for ten minutes while I prepare the rest of my routine. I always use an after-shave lotion with little or no alcohol because alcohol dries your face out and makes you look older. Then moisturizer, then an anti-aging eye balm, followed by a final moisturizing "protective" lotion. Hey, are you touching yourself? I said specifically not to touch yourself, Goddamnit!

Still here? Weirdo. Alright, I suppose you can stay. Please excuse me while I engage in a self-indulgent monologue.

There is an idea of a Patrick Bateman; some kind of abstraction. But there is no real me: only an entity, something illusory. And though I can hide my cold gaze, and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable... I simply am not there. I live my life free of morali... Hey, where are you going? Don't leave me! I'll talk about something else, I swear!

"Fuck off! I'm going. I can't believe I wasted an entire day doing nothing with you! I hate your guts, you spoiled yuppie twat!"

Oh, come on! Don't be like that. We had some good times, didn't we? Like, remember that time 5 hours ago when I had sex with those two hookers and you filmed it. Wasn't that awesome!?!? And then there was that time when we went to that restaurant, and I made that hilarious joke about you being poor. See? Plus, I'm teaching you all about the world of business. If you want to be a successful businessman, this is the kind of thing you'll have to do on a day to day basis. This is for your own good, honest!

"I suppose you did buy me some coke."

See? Just stick around for another day, it'll be fun. And after that you can go home again.

"I don't know..."

I will pay you $10,000.


Great! I've got a lunch meeting in about 30 minutes at Pretentia with the guys. It should be a laugh riot, so go put your McSuit on.

"So this is Pretentia? I've always wanted to try it out!"

I love black people. Honest!

Hold on a second; you don't actually think I'm bringing you in with me, do you?

"I assumed that was the plan"

To quote the French Prince, "Hell Nah!"

"He's actually called "The Fresh Prince"

Whatever the nigger's name is. The point is; I can't bring you into the club without having fully trained you to be a professional businessman. You think we're done yet? We haven't even covered the fundamental basics. I've still got to show you all the right places to shop, the dos and don'ts of style, as well as Mazlow's hierachy of fashionable restaurants and clubs.

"Ok then..."

Like I said before, this all just part of the process of becoming a legitimate entrepreneur. Wait in the limo. I'll be about 2 or 3 hours.

"Back already? It's only been 25 minutes?"

You can use them for all kinds of things. Hanging, for instance.

Business is a fickle bitch, my friend. C'mon I need your help. My good friend has impulsively decided to take a vacation, which means that his extensive collection of..... baked beans will be out of date by the time he returns, so he decided to give them to me, seeing as I am one of his good friends, and have never had any animosity towards him. Anyway, they're in a bag around the back of the restaurant.

"Oh, ok then."

Great. Come and give me a hand. These err... beans, are heavier than you'd think.

"Patrick, why are these cans of baked beans in a suit carrier?"

What? Oh, that's just how us important players carry stuff. Only poor people use actual plastic bags. Now grab the legs... the errr... line of bean cans that would make the shape of a leg if there were actually a human body in th... hey, no looking inside. That's not how we businessmen act around each other.

"Sorry Patrick. It just feels like there's something moving inside."

Oh really? I must not have packed them right. If I give them a bit of a whack with this Tyre iron, it should make a bit more space in the bag.

"That seems to have done it. I can't feel anything moving in the bag now. Although, I think you might have split one of the cans open. There's tomato sauce leaking out the bag."

Never-mind that. Just help me load it into the trunk.

"A job well done, if I don't say so myself, Mr. Bateman. What are we doing next?"

Do you remember where I live?

"Sure! 55 West 81st Street, Upper West Side in the American Gardens Building. The same building where Tom Cruise has an apartment."

Good. Now, I want you to get out of my limo and take a cab there.

"Oh, alright then. But where are you going?"

I need to return some videotapes.

"Cool! Are you going to Blockbuster? Cause I love movies!"

No, I'm not going to Blockbuster. It's a very special video-rental store, with a very selective clientele list.

"Really? What kind of films do they get in? Do they have the new Tom Cruise movie? The one where he plays a bartender? Who moves to Jamaica because his boss slept with his girlfriend? And it's supposed to be a really awful movie? Why don't we rent it? And then afterward we can walk over to Tom Cruise's apartment and ask him what he was thinking when he agreed to star in it."


"Hi Patrick. I'm sorry I made you angry before. I didn't realize how much you hate Tom Cruise."

That's cool. I was thinking we should go to a nightclub to blow off some steam after a hard day's work. I got Jean, who happens to be in love with me, to call ahead to Club Glam to make sure our names are on the list.

"Do you even know my name?"

No, but it doesn't really matter to me. For all I know, you could be a figment of my imagination. C'mon, let's go.

"Wow. So this is Club Glam. It's really cool... and gay."

I know, it's disgusting. If I were running this country, things would be different.

While it was nice of Patrick to bring me along, I couldn't shake the feeling that he had taken us to a gay bar. The fact that we saw Tom Cruise working there, only confirms this.

"Patrick, if you were the President of the United States, you would totally fuck up the economy with the ridiculous amount of bonuses and expenses I've seen you enjoying since yesterday."

Nah-ah! The 80s is coming to a close soon, and that wrinkly old fucker Reagan can't go on much longer. I think I'll run for President. I mean, who wouldn't vote for me? I'm handsome, athletic, educated, and most importantly, rich.

"I think politicians are supposed to have some actual policies and ideas."

I have some of those as well. I'll create tax shelters for people with incomes over $150k a year, and I'll stop the AIDS virus by exterminating gay people. I'll think of some other ones tomorrow morning. C'mon, I'd be the perfect President! Watch my diplomatic skill as I order us drinks from the bartender.

"Good evening. Could I get two Vodka and Tonics?"

"Wow. That was truly awe-inspiring."

I'm glad you enjoyed it, as now, I am going to demonstrate how to disrespect people without them knowing it. Nixon's forte, if I remember correctly. In a club where the prick of a DJ is playing the music at full blast, most of these bartending bitches can't hear what you say. Watch this.

"You're a fucking ugly bitch! I wanna stab you in the face, and play with your blood!"

See? Genius!

"I think she heard you, dude."

Did she? Oh, I think she did. Where's she going? Oh shit, the bouncers are coming over! FUCKING RUN!!!

"Well, congrats Patrick. You got us kicked out. What should we do now?"

Do not fear, my imaginary friend. For where there is my apartment, there is a small bag of cocaine and some new cassette tapes. And God saw that it was good.

"Are you ok, Patrick? It looked like the punch in the head that bouncer gave you really hurt."

They may do what they will, for I am the lamb God, the creator of all things. Yea...

"Alright then... fucking weirdo."

You may say what you will, for it is not the concerns of this life I preoccupy myself with, but those of the afterlife.

"Oh my God! I can't believe I got high with you again."

Do you like Phil Collins?


Nice raincoat, bro! And an axe too.
Looks like we're in for some serious DIY today!

I've been a big Genesis fan ever since the release of their 1980 album, Duke. Before that, I really didn't understand any of their work. Too artsy, too intellectual. It was on Duke where Phil Collins' presence became more apparent. I think Invisible Touch was the group's undisputed masterpiece. It's an epic meditation on intangibility.

"Why are you talking about Phil Collins?"

At the same time, it deepens and enriches the meaning of the preceding three albums. Listen to the brilliant ensemble playing of Banks, Collins and Rutherford. You can practically hear every nuance of every instrument. In terms of lyrical craftsmanship, the sheer songwriting, this album hits a new peak of professionalism.

"Goddamn, this is in-depth. Did you memorize this off a magazine review or something?"

Take the lyrics to Land of Confusion. In this song, Phil Collins addresses the problems of abusive political authority. In Too Deep is the most moving pop song of the 1980s, about monogamy and commitment. The song is extremely uplifting. Their lyrics are as positive and affirmative as anything I've heard in rock.

"I feel sick. Hey, I didn't notice all the newspaper coverings you've put on the floor. Have you been redecorating?"

Phil Collins' solo career seems to be more commercial and therefore more satisfying, in a narrower way. Especially songs like In the Air Tonight and Against All Odds. But I also think Phil Collins works best within the confines of the group, than as a solo artist, and I stress the word artist.

"Are you going to rape me?"

This is Sussudio, a great, great song, a personal favorite of mine. A song so catchy, most people probably don't even listen to the lyrics. But they should, because it's not just about the pleasures of conformity, and the importance of trends, it's also a personal statement about the band itself. Heh. Guess what?


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