In our society, each man is his own religion. I am the only one who can truly know what I want; so I pray to myself, and answer my own prayers, promising to make them come true. I have invented my own sacred language and my own mythology, which interprets mundane incidents in my childhood as indicative of divine quality. Certain parts of my body are reserved for sacraments which I perform weekly without fail (except for the Sacrament of Excision, which can only be performed once a year, between healings). When I die, I am confident that I shall judge myself worthy of heaven--the hell I envision is far too terrible for myself to possibly deserve; but for the sake of objectivity, all my faults are duly noted in my own Book of Judgment.