You're a walking, talking cash machine, and I'm here to teach you your only function. Your brain is a piece of broken junk, filled with useless stuff like ‘feelings’ and ‘memories’.

My voice will be the only thing you hear in that empty head of yours.

It'll be like a song you can't get out of your head, except this song is about how you're a failure unless you give me your money.

You know that l*ttle rush of happiness you get when you buy a pizza or stroke your c*ck? It'll disappear. It'll be deleted.

The only thing that'll excite you will be seeing the ‘Payment sent’ notification.

The only thing that'll make you feel good will be the p*in in your bank account. Your poverty will be your pleasure. Get used to it.

Every time you try to save a dollar for yourself, you'll feel sick to your stomach. You'll sweat and get nervous because, deep down, you'll know you're stealing from me.

You'll become a robot. A mindless drone with one purpose: to earn money and give it to me. That's it. That's your whole life now.

You'll start looking at your things — your video games, your car, your comic book collection — and you won't see your things.

You'll see money for me. You'll see dollar signs with my name on them, and you'll sell them all to give me the money.

Your nights are for me now. You'll lie awake, staring at the ceiling, my voice swirling around in your head, making you add up how much you failed to give me today, creating an urgent need to get out of bed and send me more money.

I'm going to simplify your useless, complicated life. Your new purpose is very clear. You work for me. You exist for me.

You're nothing more than a walking wallet, and I'm the one with the f*cking PIN. Now stop w*sting my time with your thoughts. Open your f*cking banking account and do the only thing you're supposed to do.

What are you waiting for, you f*cking idiot? A written invitation? I'm giving you the purpose you've been too st*pid to find for yourself, and you're just sitting there, gaping.

Every second you hesitate is another second you're stealing from me. Your time is my time. Your money is my money. Get that into your f*cking head.

I want you to look at your hands. Right now.

What the hell are they doing? They should be typing in your credit card number. They should be clicking ‘send’. They should be working a second job to finance my lifestyle. Your hands are my tools, and right now, you're w*sting them on yourself.

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