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           Youhaveeverything. 

           Goahead,rightinthegut.Takeanothershotatmyface. Caveinmyteeth,butkeepthosepaycheckscoming. Crackmyribs,butifyoumissoneweek’spay, Igopublic,andyouandyourlittleuniongodownunderlawsuitsfromeverytheaterowner andfilmdistributorandmommywhosekidmaybesawahard-oninBambi. 

           "Iamtrash,"Tylersaid. "Iamtrashandshitandcrazytoyouandthiswholefuckingworld,"Tylersaidtotheunionpresident. "Youdon’tcarewhereIliveorhowIfeel, orwhatIeatorhowIfeedmykids orhowIpaythedoctorifIgetsick, andyesIamstupidandboredandweak,butIamstillyourresponsibility." 

           SittingintheofficeatthePressmanHotel,myfightclublipswerestillsplitintoabouttensegments. ThebuttholeinmycheeklookingatthemanagerofthePressmanHotel, itwasallprettyconvincing. 

           Basically,IsaidthesamestuffTylersaid. 

           AftertheunionpresidenthadsluggedTylertothefloor, aftermisterpresidentsawTylerwasn’tfightingback, hishonorwithhisbigCadillacbodybiggerandstrongerthanhewouldeverreallyneed, hishonorhauledhiswingtipbackandkickedTylerintheribsandTylerlaughed. HishonorshotthewingtipintoTyler’skidneysafterTylercurledintoaball, butTylerwasstilllaughing. 

           "Getitout,"Tylersaid."Trustme. You’llfeelalotbetter.You’llfeelgreat."