First of all, Papa Smurf didn't create Smurfette. Gargamel did. She was sent in as Gargamel's evil spy with the intention of destroying the Smurf village, but the overwhelming goodness of the Smurf way of life transformed her. And as for the whole gang-bang scenario, it just couldn't happen. Smurfs are asexual. They don't even have reproductive organs under those little white pants. That's what's so illogical, you know, about being a Smurf. What's the point of living if you don't have a dick?
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Let me make sure I've got this right. One night in December - in the middle of the rainy season - Joseph returns home from work and announces to his wife, Mary (a young lass of thireteen or fourteen in her ninth month of pregnancy) that they must immediately depart for Bethlehem in order to fulfill some vague scriptural prophecy. It's a journey of over one hundred and thirty kilometers that passes through some of the most treacherous and hostile territory in all of Jerusalem. However, Mary, despite being jerked and jostled on the back of a jackass and struggling on foot through thick muck and mire, manages to complete this arduous trek without hemorrhaging, breaking her water, or using harsh language. No doubt this has to be another one of those take it on 'faith' stories, right?
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Humor is my mechanism for dealing with the hard reality of the world.
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As a little kid I had a girlfriend, and her boyfriend used to beat me up, so then I used to sing these songs, and that's what it's all about. Country music is all about your heart and your people and things like that.
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I belong to Bridegrooms Anonymous. Whenever I feel like getting married, they send over a lady in a housecoat and hair curlers to burn my toast for me.
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People named John and Mary never divorce. For better or for worse, in madness and in saneness, they seem bound together for eternity by their rudimentary nomenclature. They may loathe and despise one another, quarrel, weep, and commit mayhem, but they are not free to divorce. Tom, Dick, and Harry can go to Reno on a whim, but nothing short of death can separate John and Mary.
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All I really need to know about how to live and what to do and how to be I learned in kindergarten. Remember the Dick-and-Jane books and the first word you learned--the biggest word of all--look.
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So, you're obviously the big dick. And there on either side of you are your balls. There are two types of balls. There are big, brave balls, and there are little, mincy faggot balls. You're dicks have driving clarity of vision. But they're not clever; they smell pussy, and they want a piece of the action. And you thought you smelled some good ol' pussy, and have brought your two little, mincey, faggot balls along for a good ol' time. But you've got your parties muddled up. There's no pussy here- just a dose that will make you wish you were born a women. Like a prick, you're having second thoughts. You're shrinking, and your two little balls are shrinking with ya. And the fact that you've got 'Replica' written on the side of your guns. And the fact that I've got 'Desert Eagle .50' written on the side of mine, should precipitate your balls into shrinking, along with your presence. Now fuck off!
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I want to write about people I love, and put them into a fictional world spun out of my own mind, not the world we actually have, because the world we actually have does not meet my standards. Okay, so I should revise my standards; I'm out of step. I should yield to reality. I have never yielded to reality. That's what SF is all about. If you wish to yield to reality, go read Philip Roth; read the New York literary establishment mainstream bestselling writers
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Science fiction writers, I am sorry to say, really do not know anything. We can't talk about science, because our knowledge of it is limited and unofficial, and usually our fiction is dreadful.
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If human intelligence is largely a matter of heredity, then how stupid and gullible did God make Adam and Eve; how wise and clever the serpent?
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I was twelve when I read my first sf magazine
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I am a fictionalizing philosopher, not a novelist; my novel & story-writing ability is employed as a means to formulate my perception. The core of my writing is not art but truth. Thus what I tell is the truth, yet I can do nothing to alleviate it, either by deed or explanation. Yet this seems somehow to help a certain kind of sensitive troubled person, for whom I speak. I think I understand the common ingredient in those whom my writing helps: they cannot or will not blunt their own intimations about the irrational, mysterious nature of reality, &, for them, my corpus is one long ratiocination regarding this inexplicable reality, an integration & presentation, analysis & response & personal history.
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There are a lot of scary stories out there about the next pandemic, but we have to make difficult decisions without a lot of information. The real answer is we don't know until the next pandemic virus appears.
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There is nothing fantastic or ultradimansional about crab grass... unless you are an sf writer, in which case pretty soon you are viewing crab grass with suspicion. What are it's real motives And who sent it here in the first place It only looks like crab grass. That's what they want us to think it is. One day the crab grass suit will fall off and their true identity will be revealed. By then the Pentagon will be full of crab grass and it'll be too late. The crab grass, or what we took to be crab grass, will dictate terms.
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Confidence is Going after Moby Dick in a rowboat, And taking the tarter sauce with you. A Bullfighter who goes in the ring with mustard on his sword.
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Everyone at Carolina is extremely grateful to the Steinbrenner family. We are fortunate that his family has enjoyed its relationship with the University of North Carolina and that Mr. Steinbrenner felt the Tar Heel baseball program was a worthy recipient of this unique and generous gift.
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He piled upon the whale's white hump the sum of all the general rage and hate felt by his whole race from Adam down; and then, as if his chest had been a mortar, he burst his hot heart's shell upon it.
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Baseball is very big with my people. It figures. It's the only way we can get to shake a bat at a white man without starting a riot.
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I have a head, but no eyes, I have a mouth, but cannot speak. When I get up, I'm shoved into a stright jacket, thrusted into a wet dark hole repeatedly until I throw up on myself, then forced to do it again! And the only company I have to give me any comfort at all are two hairy nuts!
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According to 'God's Plan' Jesus had to die in order to be resurrected and for humankind to achieve salvation. If that is true, then why do Christians lament his crucifixion? Without it, their execrable theology would have never sunk its pernicious talons into the cousciousness of humankind.
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I'm perplexed when people adopt the modish abbreviation Ms., which doesn't abbreviate anything except common sense.
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Sometimes the appropriate response to reality is to go insane.
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Civil Rights: What black folks are given in the U.S. on the installment plan, as in civil-rights bills. Not to be confused with human rights, which are the dignity, stature, humanity, respect, and freedom belonging to all people by right of their birth.
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God commanded His 'chosen people' to become mass murderers (Numbers 31:16-17) before the ink had dried on his moral magnum opus 'The Ten Commandments'. Unfortunately, humankind has followed this internecine hypocrisy even since.
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If you take the Bible literally, then you've been taken - literally.
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I've worked for four presidents and watched two others up close, and I know that there's no such thing as a routine day in the Oval Office
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There comes a time when deceit and defiance must be seen for what they are. At that point, a gathering danger must be directly confronted. At that point, we must show that beyond our resolutions is actual resolve
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When facing a difficult task, act as though it is impossible to fail. If you are going after Moby Dick, take along the tartar sauce.
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Nature is not affected by finance. If someone offered you ten thousand dollars to let them touch your eyeball without blinking, you would never collect the money. At the very last moment, Nature would force you to blink your eye. Nature will protect her own.
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