Patrick Betamale is certifiably Fake and Gay and therefore literally me.
Surrounded by a three ring circus shitshow of inanery and jackassery that he exceptionally conforms to (by selling his soul), he has found a revolutionary new way of releasing tension: murder.
Yes, his kink of reciting carefully constructed CD reviews of nothing but the most mainstream of mainstreams as foreplay to murder his finally gone a little too far. But who is he really lashing out against? Who is that man with the sculpted features and the politics of a machine?
Degraded by his undeserving, meaningless life, his constant failures, and the inability to compete even within his own dead end social circle, he turns to the last pride, joy, and freedom there is in his life. But unfortunately, his insatiable need for murder has created some difficulties for him. As the number of bodies grows, so too does his discomfort until after a magnificent and cathartic series of random murder, he confesses to his lawyer's voicemail.
However, he soon discovers that even in his psychotic fantasies, he is still a fake and gay, effete, useless, limpdick daydreamer.
And in the epicenter of greed and disgust, he reaches a state of calm, apathy, and psychosis.

I particularly enjoy the movie's nuanced conversation with reality and society, calling us to look deeper into the damaged psyche of conformity and materialism exaggerated by the most flagrant examples of success in high society, for it is a universal issue in America that is magnified by the concentration of wealth.