I am at the moment writing a lengthy indictment against our century. When my brain begins to reel from my literary labors, I make an occasional cheese dip.
The day before me is fraught with God knows what horrors.
Had that poor Reilly kook really been proud of Levy Pants? He had always said that he was. That was one good sign of his insanity.
Apparently I lack some particular perversion which today’s employer is seeking.
I avoid that bleak first hour of the working day during which my still sluggish senses and body make every chore a penance. I find that in arriving later, the work which I do perform is of a much higher quality.
I mingle with my peers or no one, and since I have no peers, I mingle with no one.
To you character is a psychosis. Integrity is a complex.
Is my paranoia getting completely out of hand, or are you mongoloids really talking about me?
She ran into the bathroom and powdered her face and the front of her dress, drew a surrealistic version of a mouth beneath her nose, and dashed into her bedroom to find a coat.
Mother doesn’t cook, Ignatius said dogmatically, She burns.
Talc: You have been found guilty of misleading and perverting the young. I decree that you be hung by your underdeveloped testicles until dead. ZORRO
Oh, my God!” Ignatius bellowed from the front of the house. “What an egregious insult to good taste.