The ballot is stronger than the bullet.
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I wanted to destroy everything beautiful I'd never have. Burn the Amazon rain forests. Pump chloroflourocarbons straight up to gobble the ozone. Open the dump valves on supertankers and uncap offshore wells. I wanted to kill all the fish I couldn't afford to eat, and smother the French beaches I'd never see. I wanted the whole world to hit bottom. I really wanted to put a bullet between the eyes of every endangered panda that wouldn't screw to save its species and every whale or dolphin that gave up and ran itself aground. Don't think of it as extinction. Think of it as downsizing.
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When I Grow Up When I grow up, I wonder if people will be more afraid to cry than they are to die. Will I be able to see a rainbow in a small-filled sky. Will there be any trees left, if not how will the planet survive. Will there be a website at www.lifeairsupply.com. When I grow up, if I got bored and had nothing to do and me and my son built a canoe and water that was once blue would be so poluted it would give us the flu. Will a thousand dollars be enough for a shoe. Will I have to be like you, letting money make the decision for everything that I do. When I grow up, will the existance of dolphins and whales just be a story I tell, starting with Once upon a time and ending with where did we fail. Will adults be the hammer and nail. Will schools be next door to jails. Will the truth be illegal for sale. When I grow up, will people be on the news for anything besides killing. Will those drug dealers still be outside of my building. Will they ever learn how to love or are they still afraid of the feeling. Will tv and music videos still raise America's children. Will students go home from school in a bullet proof bus. What if children had no one to trust, that would hurt me so much and i just want to be happy, when i grow up.
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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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In LA the blood dries at night. The streets never cool down. The sound of helicopters fills the ears and sends knee jerk shots of panic, paranoia and animal savagery through the veins of the shuffled extras too numbed by glamour overload to notice that there's not a single intersection in the entire city where you can stand and not be an animal waiting to see your own intestines slide down your leg from a stray bullet. In this city they kill for the fuck of it, fuck for the hell of it and live for no reason. If I could have a nickel for every siren I've heard go screaming into the distance to some scene, I'd still be here, still be looking out the window of my room, still laughing at the fact that I can't get my window open very far because the security bars get in the way.
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Thus the metric system did not really catch on in the States, unless you count the increasing popularity of the nine-millimeter bullet.
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It's going to be the ballot or the bullet
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May the road be free for the journey, May it lead where it promised it would, May the stars that gave ancient bearings Be seen, still be understood May every aircraft fly safely, May every traveler be found, May sailors in crossing the ocean Not hear the cried of the drowned May gardens be wild, like jungles, May nature never be tamed, May dangers create of us heroes, May fears always have names, May the mountains stand to remind us, Of what it mean to be young May we be outlived by our daughters, May we be outlived by our sons May the bombs rust away in the bunkers, And the doomsday clock not be rewound May the solitary scientists, working Remember the holes in the ground May the knife remain in the holder, May the bullet stay in the gun, May those who live in the shadows Be seen by those in the sun
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Happy is the novelist who manages to preserve an actual love letter that he received when he was young within a work of fiction, embedded in it like a clean bullet in flabby flesh and quite secure there, among spurious lives.
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[And how did he recover the patience that allowed him to await the arrival of songs for his 21st century trio of brilliant, contemplative, philosophical and socially conscious albums?] I just walked away from [the commercial career] and let it dismantle itself, ... I bit the bullet and crossed over that threshold to the realization that I may not be a big star in this thing. Maybe my path is something else. So I just started driving my kids to school and looking out after them. I stumbled onto a fantastic woman and built a relationship and became more solid inside myself and went back to work with a different mind-set, which is to please myself, because it's the only way I can be original.
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In the career of glory one gains many things; the gout and medals, a pension and rheumatism....And also frozen feet, an arm or leg the less, a bullet lodged between two bones which the surgeon cannot extract....all of these fatigues experienced in your youth, you pay for when you grow old. Because one has suffered in years gone by, it is necessary to suffer more, which does not seem exactly fair.
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Washington is like a self-sealing tank on a military aircraft. When a bullet passes through, it closes up.
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Uncle Ben's brass bullet-mould And powder horn, and Major Bogan's face...
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I remember on Tuesday morning picking up newspapers, and I saw headlines, 'New Orleans Dodged the Bullet.
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Thus the metric system did not really catch on in the States, unless you count the increasing popularity of the nine-millimeter bullet
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I'm not worried about the bullet with my name on it... just the thousands out there marked 'Occupant.'
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