For weeks, backers of Republican nominee Donald Trump hyped the tantalizing possibility that the anti-secrecy organization WikiLeaks was on the verge of publishing a set of documents that would doom Hillary Clinton’s chances in November. . . . The much-vaunted news conference, as it turned out, was little more than an extended infomercial for WikiLeaks on the occasion of the 10th anniversary of its founding. . . . But perhaps those waiting for an October surprise shouldn’t lose all hope just yet.

—the Washington Post.

Photograph by Rupert Hartley / REX / Shutterstock / AP

Julian Assange has promised to leak a mysterious cache of sensitive documents over the next ten weeks, so I have made the decision to openly admit some things about myself, in case any of my private information is released.

Even though my weight fluctuates between a hundred and fifty-one and a hundred and fifty-six pounds, I always type in “151” on all electronic exercise equipment.

I've lived in the United States for seven years, but I grew up in England.

My accent is a bit funny because I’ve been in America for so long.

I helped the Democratic Party cover up the fact that the real Hillary Clinton has been cryogenically frozen for two years.

Whenever I order a salad and I’m allowed to choose my own toppings, it’s a total mess. I’ll panic and put beets and an egg on kale and salmon. It tastes awful.

When I was a teen-ager, I would smoke cigarettes on the balcony outside my family's living room, and I got caught a bunch of times because it was totally obvious, but I kept doing it.

I never really dust my room until it gets super-dusty. Then I have to spend way longer than I would have if I’d just dusted regularly!

Five of Bill Clinton’s love children have been secretly living in my apartment for the past two years.

I read this piece on Jezebel a while back about how men whisper “Hey” after sex and then wondered if I’ve ever whispered “Hey,” and decided I wouldn’t in the future, in any event. Then I thought that it would be funny to whisper “Hey,” pause, and then say, “Have you read that piece on Jezebel about men whispering ‘Hey’ after having sex?,” but that wouldn’t be funny.

I use one password for Web sites that I think are bad and I don’t trust, and one password for Web sites that I think are good and I do trust. It is not a perfect security system, and it’s probably how WikiLeaks got the information about me that it’s about to release.

Sometimes I’m on Twitter on my desktop, and it will say “1 new tweet” and I’ll click on that.

All of Hillary Clinton’s missing e-mails are kept on a memory card that has been surgically inserted into my brain.

When I was a toddler and I didn’t yet understand the concept of stealing, I stole an eraser from my local newsstand. My mother made me apologize and return it, and I cried a lot.

The first time I looked at pornography, it wasn’t intentional. I was on my family computer, and it was loading very slowly, and, in anger, I typed into Google something like “My computer is a big butt” and got pornographic results. My parents found out, and I couldn’t articulate the sequence of events clearly, so I falsely admitted that I’d been looking at photos of big butts.

I’ll often drink too much coffee during the day, and then can’t sleep at night and stare at the ceiling until it’s three in the morning.

Each week, I am given ten million dollars in unmarked bills by the Clinton Foundation, which I present to ISIS in person. Mr. ISIS takes it and says, “Thank you, Mr. Clinton!” and I have to explain that I’m not Bill Clinton; I’m just someone acting on behalf of the Clinton Foundation! We both have a great laugh and then part ways.