Crackpot, The Obsessions, John Waters, page 24 paragraph 2

I'm not even going to make the bed. The one rotten, suffocating set of polyester sheets (2) I still own is thrown in the garbage. I happily destroy the ozone by spraying on my favorite aerosol deodorant and sneer and the dumbbells who use the nauseating roll-on brands (3), the kind that retain stray underarm hairs from past use to remind you just how imperfect the human body really is. I get the newspaper from outside the door, hoping I'll catch the creep who sometimes steals it (4) when I oversleep, but throw it down in disgust when I see color photos (5) that never reproduce properly and look like 3-D comics without the benefit of glasses. Then the goddamn light bulb (6) burns out. Does General Electric think I'm made of money? I gotta get out of here. I think I'll just drive around town yelling insults at pedestrians.

Vintage, 1987, New York, 0-394-75534-0