I hate myself and want to die

Today I was eating a pesto-smeared bagel, when Karl, the omnipresent demi-god that he is, give me his signature look of disapproval--- so smug. Why should he judge me for eating? not everybody can be an android. A chic android, but a literal android none the less. Besides, I think I saw him sneaking some diet-coke chex-mix the other day, but before I could confront him, he sternly swatted a nearby assistant like a step-child in need of a good slap, the assistant immediately began sobbing. If there is one thing I've learned about the starched-collared monster that is Karl Lagerfeld, it is that he does not like sobbing. I don't think he even acknowledges sadness as a real emotion. He is always telling me, "Why so glum my little Yves'ey (yes, he calls me Yves'ey, it's humiliating)"

Regardless, the assistant was not fired, she quit. Reason for leaving.

"I am not worthy"


Fourth one today....

On another topic, the worst part about being dead, is apparently dead people cannot legally own things. As such, my entire estate was AUCTIONED! A lifetime of things, beautiful, wonderful, melancholic things, gone. Sold to... the fatties. I didn't even get any of the money. Kruelty-Karl will not let it down for one second of course.

"Yves"

"what?"

"oh Yves-ey!"

"WHAT?"

"how are you going to pay the rent? mmm?"

"huh?"

"you can hardly stay here for free you know"

"uh..."

"aw, are you poor now?"

"STOP IT KARL I DON'T LIKE IT"

"Maybe you should get a job"

"....Karl...?!"

"like maybe work as a toilet cleaner, no?"

(Anna chimes in)

"or Marc Jacobs!"

(Karl has just informed me that this morning he premoted himself from "demi-god" to "Kaiser H. "Coco" Lagerfeld ", a bit redundant, would you say?-- well I wouldn't... don't feel like getting slapped)