"Okay, you're getting close to being able to perform miracles. Little ones. Pitiful ones. Like curing pimples. Or lowering price tags on designer clothes. But keep these acts a secret. It's a personal power you've reached through spiritual study, but don't expect the stupid little outside world to believe you. Scientologists call it "clear"; we'll call it "cloudy." Once we have identified and embraced our sickness, we'll have strength!And that's when we get dangerous. Identify the spots of guilt on your body and pluck them out like the chicken livers evangelists pretend is the cancer they cure in shills planted in the congregations of their tent revivals. Where are you feeling you're not worthy? In your hair? Behind your ears? In your private areas? Well, cast it out! We're Porn Again and we have no regrets! Repent? Hell, no! I HAVE A SCREAM! NO REMORSE! NO SHAME! ALL LAUGHING ALL THE TIME! CINEMATIC DELIRIUM!
There's only one way we want to die--spontaneous combustion. The unexplained phenomenon of being so guilty and happy, so obsessed, so driven, and so fantastical that you just burst into flames for no apparent reason. On the street. At work. Hopefully, for me, in an airport. And if we work together, it could happen to us all at once when we're out somewhere causing trouble. It's a beautiful death, dramatic, scary, internally cleansing, and all you leave for the rest of the world to see is a really good pair of shoes. I have a lot of books on spontaneous combustion, or "fire from heaven" as it has been called, and all the pictures of the lucky dead are the same. Ashes. Shoes. Ashes. Shoes. So it all boils down to a religious lesson. Be prepared. Always wear stylish shoes. They won't be comfortable. They shouldn't be. It hurts to be this pure."
- the last two paragraphs of John Waters' book Role Models
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