Mikey at the podium: 'a sick fuck, you know what I'm saying?'

Mikey's entire share runs the theme's low-style engine: diction that is nothing but profanity and tic ("cunt," "light somebody up," "you know what I'm saying?" as metronome) carrying content that is pure single-entendre moral self-accounting. He stands at the podium and narrates, without a shred of self-flattery, the near-relapse of his temper — how "a little of the old Mikey" came out, how he parked on his family's lawn and grabbed his balls at his sister and mother. The vulgarity isn't a pose or a distancing device; it's simply the only register he has, and the book's claim is that it's a fully adequate vehicle for genuine ethical seriousness. The self-diagnosis is merciless and exact ("Am I nuts, Dr., or what? Do I got a like death-wish?"), and it arrives in the crudest available English. Sincerity here needs no elevation of diction; the moral accounting is real precisely in the gutter idiom.