Stereotypical Me

Give me five minutes of your time. I have this knack, a gift, really. I can instantly confirm all your fears about me, distil your deepest, darkest nightmares; absorb them, embody them, wrap them up as a present, hold it up for you to see, You'll know it's all true, the bad press. My preceding reputation, a dark winged bat flown from a hell of legendary fables. Some real, some lies; what's the difference? Think the worst. I'll ratify it, quantify it for you, no problem; live my mythology before your very eyes, be what your preconceived mind expects I should be. By now it's second nature. It's nothing, really, no, really, it isn't. Mostly I'm unaware I'm doing it. Sad, inspired, or what? Give me five minutes of your time...