"Or
for that matter, do you really think we enjoy hearing about your
brand-new million-dollar home when we can barely afford to eat Kraft
Dinner sandwiches in our own grimy little shoe boxes and we're pushing
thirty?
A home you won in a genetic lottery, I might add, sheerly by dint of your
having been born at the right time in history? You'd last about ten
minutes if you were my age these days, Martin. And I have to endure
pinheads like you rusting about me for the rest of my life, always grabbing
the best piece of cake first and then putting a barbed-wire fence around
the rest. You really make me sick."