F Yeah Quotes

Now, there's one thing you might have noticed I don't complain about: politicians. Everybody complains about politicians. Everybody says they suck. Well, where do people think these politicians come from? They don't fall out of the sky. They don't pass through a membrane from another reality. They come from American parents and American families, American homes, American schools, American churches, American businesses and American universities, and they are elected by American citizens. This is the best we can do folks. This is what we have to offer. It's what our system produces: Garbage in, garbage out. If you have selfish, ignorant citizens, you're going to get selfish, ignorant leaders. Term limits ain't going to do any good; you're just going to end up with a brand new bunch of selfish, ignorant Americans. So, maybe, maybe, maybe, it's not the politicians who suck. Maybe something else sucks around here... like, the public. Yeah, the public sucks. There's a nice campaign slogan for somebody: 'The Public Sucks. F*ck Hope.

Can I? Yeah. You bet I can. There's a million things in this world can't do. Couldn't hit a curve ball, even back in high school. Can't fix a leaky faucet. Can't roller-skate or make an F-chord on the guitar that sounds like anything but shit. I have tried twice to be married and couldn't do it either time. But if you want me to take you away, to scare you or involve you or make you cry or grin, yeah. I can. I can bring it to you and keep bringing it until you holler uncle. I am able. I CAN.

I don't know how Haley put up with you for the last few weeks. I would have killed you by now." "Haley worships me," he said with a snort. "Yeah, okay," Brad said, laughing. "That's why she dates other men and screws you over just to laugh at you." "Exactly." Brad looked over at him. "You are a seriously f*cked up man, aren't you?

I’m totally getting more ass than Ryke Meadows.” She laughs as she squirms in his hold. “She’s not getting more ass than me,” he says … “Oh yeah? I have a boyfriend. What do you have?” “A six-pack and a big f**cking c*ck.

The Great Gatsby's my favorite book," he says. "F. Scott Fitzgerald dedicated it to Zelda." "His wife?" I say. "Yeah. His crazy-ass wife who he had no business loving that much," he says, giving me a loaded look. "You know what their joint epitaph says? It's a quote from the book... Their kid picked it for them." I shake my head. "What's it say?" His eyes close halfway as he recites, "So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

This Strategic, Mutually Beneficial and Romantically Oriented Alliance to Help Further Our Respective Careers—” “S.M.B.R.O.A.H.F.O.R.C. for short,” I offer. “Yeah, uh, I don’t think that’s shorter,” Caz tells me.

Brian must have heard the commotion, because he came up behind her and yanked the door all the way open. "You got a f**king problem with me, James?" James, ever the type to go off all half-cocked until things started to get serious, seemed to shrink a bit. "I've got a problem with you screwing my sister, yeah." "I suggest you get the f**k over it.

Pac said Thug Life stood for ‘The Hate U Give Little Infants Fucks Everybody.’” I raise my eyebrows. “What?” “Listen! The Hate U—the letter U—Give Little Infants Fucks Everybody. T-H-U-G L-I-F-E. Meaning what society give us as youth, it bites them in the ass when we wild out. Get it?” “Damn. Yeah.

Finally, after we were soaked through, he lifted his head and stared down at me, his hands cupping my face. "I thought you'd tell me to f*** off, and you'd leave. I thought every word I spoke was the last time I'd see you." "Please. I can deal. Do you have any idea how screwed up I am?" His crooked smile transformed his face. "Yeah. I've got some idea." My belly went warm again. Sebastian kissed me, his lips wet from the rain.

Eric: But you already know... Greta: Well, yeah, but I still want us to have The Talk. All daughters get to have The Talk. Eric: Fine. You remember the book "If you give a Mouse a Cookie"? Greta: Ye-es. Eric: It's like that. Greta: No it isn't. Eric: No. It absolutely is... Eric: If you give a boy a kiss, he'll want to touch your cookies. If you let him touch your cookies, he'll want to unwrap them. If you let him unwrap them, he'll want to put them in his mouth. And THEN, if you let him put them in his mouth, the boy will want to pet your kitty. But if you let him pet your kitty, he'll want to see your kitty. And of course, if you let him see your kitty, then he'll want to feed it. And if you let him kiss you, touch your cookies, unwrap your cookies, put them in his mouth, pet your kitty, see your kitty, and feed your kitty, you'll get pregnant unless you make him wear a raincoat on his banana. So it's better if you just kick the boy in the nuts and run over him with the car. Greta: I don't think that's how The Talk usually goes. Eric: No? Greta: No, but it's okay, Dad. I like your version, too.

They kill hundreds of people, those pilots. I would have loved to have flown the plane that dropped the bomb on Japan. A couple of dudes killed hundreds of thousands. That f****** rules! Yeah!

Do you feel better?” I ask her. She doesn’t seem as paranoid or f**king antsy. “When I talk to you, yeah, I do.” “Then call me. I told you I wouldn’t f**king mind if you did.” “I didn’t want to bother you…the time difference…” “I’ll answer your call if it’s at four in the morning or midnight, Dais. It’s just f**king hard for me to call you because I don’t know when you’re on the runway.” There’s a long drawn out pause, and I can tell she’s trying to find the right words. She settles on these: “Thanks, Ryke.” She says my name with this genuine, heartfelt affection. “I mean it.” “I know you do.” “I have to start heading over for hair and makeup. Call you later?” “I’ll answer.” For you, I always f**king will.

First of all, she wasn’t my girlfriend, we were nine,” Alex said. “And the only reason she liked you was because you used to show off your powers all the time.” “No I didn’t,” Chris said. “Yeah, you did,” Joseph grinned. “All the time,” Hadrian added, lifting his glass to take a sip. “It was really annoying,” Neriah said.

Ah its fine. I don't mind." Hadrain sucked his breath in sharply. "Ooo, T. Have a care with that word. It always gives me chills." Talyn frowned. "What word?" "Fine. I hate it." "Seriously?" "Uh yeah. Are you out of your mind? I live with Jayne and two daughters. The most terrifying four-lettered-f-word a woman says in my house is 'fine.' I swear, every time I hear it, I cringe." Nero laughed. "Jayne? What have you done to my brother?" Kissing her cheek, Hadrain flashed a teasing grin. "Let me put it to you this way... God forbid anything should ever happen to her, but if it does I'm under orders to chain and lock her coffin shut during the middle of the funeral just to freak everyone out

No life isn't that bad just today today sucks today's the f*king worst but probably not tomorrow or even the next day yeah, the next day might be f*king sweet.

Man, get outta here! Tupac was the truth." "Yeah, twenty years ago." "Nah, even now. Like, check this." He points at me, which means he's about to go into one of his Khalil philosophical moments. "'Pac said Thug Life stood for 'The Hate U Give Little Infants Fucks Everybody." I raise my eyebrows. "What?" "Listen! The Hate U - the letter U - Give Little Infants Fucks Everybody. T-H-U-G L-I-F-E. Meaning what society give us as youth, it bites them in the ass when we wild out. Get it?" "Damn. Yeah.

Aaron’s eyes widened. “That’s Lexi?” he asked. Kyran turned to him with a frown. “Yeah. Why?” “Nothing,” Aaron said. “It’s just...when I heard Skyler was messing around with Lexi,” he shrugged, “I figured she was your...girlfriend.” Kyran raised an eyebrow. “Skyler’s stupid, not suicidal.

It is my fault, and the fault of everyone of my generation. I wonder what the future generations will say about us. My grandparents suffered through the Depression, World War II, then came home to build the greatest middle class in human history. Lord knows they weren't perfect, but they sure came closest to the American dream. Then my parents' generation came along and f***ed it all up - the baby boomers, the "me" generation. And then you got us. Yeah, we stopped the Zombie menace, but we're the ones who let it become a menace in the first place. At least we're cleaning up our own mess, and maybe that's the best epitaph to hope for. 'Generation Z, they cleaned up their own mess.

He shook his head in exasperation. “Are you sure you’re not a Succubus? You seem really obsessed with the sin of lust.” “It’s a good sin. I like gluttony an awful lot, too. Sloth has its moments, but I just don’t understand acedia at all. I mean, what the f**k is that anyway? Oh, and greed is good, to quote Gordon Gekko. Anger, envy and pride,” I ticked them off on my fingers. “I don’t often have much use for them. It’s a shortcoming that I’m hoping to correct in the next millennium or two. I’m not very old; I can’t be expected to have mastered them all yet.” “I think you’ve worked too hard on some of those,” he said dryly. “Maybe you should switch over to virtues instead. Give yourself a much needed break.” Virtues? Yeah, right. “Virtues are too difficult,” I told him, shaking my head. “Look how old you are and you’ve hardly made a dent in them. I’ll admit, you seem to have zeal nailed, as well as faith and temperance. Self control? I’ve got my doubts based on your recent actions. I’m not seeing the kindness, love or generosity, either. That humility thing seems to be pretty far beyond your reach, too. Really, really far. I’m sorry to tell you this, but from what I can see, the sin of pride is a major component of your character. Dude, you’re f**king old. You should have these things pretty well ticked off your shopping list by now. I’m seriously disappointed. Seriously.

Do you even feel anything, Chad? Will you for once stop walking around, all in control and f'ing calm? Do you have any idea what you all have done. I lost everything, Chad. Everything, when Kyle died. I lost myself. I had finally begun to build a new life with new friends. With people I thought cared about me. I have started to be just a little bit happy again. Was it too much to ask? Did I ask for too much by just wanting to have a little bit of a life again? Now, it’s all screwed up again and you walk around here like you don’t feel anything about what’s happened.” Chad spun around, and for only the second time since she’d known him, she saw the flash of anger so fierce her breath caught in her throat and she took an involuntary step back, away from him. Jennie knew Chad would never hurt her on purpose, but the anger rolling off of him was palpable. It seemed to force her backwards as if it had a life of its own, a power of its own. “Not feel anything, Jennie? Are you f'ing kidding me? I walk around here every day and I ache every f'ing minute I’m with you. I’m so twisted up with loving you and hating you, I can’t breathe. I can’t keep my hands off you, but I can’t let myself kiss you because I might lose myself in you. I can’t make love to you because I’m afraid you’ll pretend I’m him. I know you want his arms around you, not mine. I know you want it to be his baby inside you, not mine. And I know you can’t love me back, no matter what I do, because you’re still so in love with your husband, you can’t even begin to see me.” Chad didn’t stop and Jennie didn’t try to stop him. “And every day, I have to sit here and wonder how I’ll be a part of my baby’s life. I wonder if you’ll let me be in the delivery room, if you’ll let me help you name the baby. I wonder how much money I’d have to offer the people who live across the street from you to get them to sell me their house, just so I can see my child grow up. If you’ll let me...” Chad stopped as if he’d run out of steam. They stood in uneasy silence for a long time before Chad spoke again. He sounded worn out and bitter and angry, mirroring Jennie’s chaos of emotions. “Am I feeling anything? Yeah. I’m feeling some f'ing sh**, Jen.

Are you hurt?” Alex asked. Chris felt his chest seize with panic. “No, are you?” he asked quickly. “No,” Alex replied. “My head hurts, but I’m guessing that’s because I was knocked out.” “Yeah,” Chris said, trying to ignore the pounding in his skull. “Mine too.” He let out a frustrated breath. “Thanks a lot!” There was a pause before Alex asked, “You’re blaming me for this?” “You distracted me,” Chris accused. “If you hadn’t been there, I would have sensed the attack.” “Yeah, sure,” Alex said, sarcasm thick in his voice. “You would have sensed it. You have great intuition, after all.” “Shut up!” Chris barked.

Instead, I clear my throat. “Oh yeah? You almost became a dad, Kit. That’s a scary life cocktail you’re mixing.” He’s quiet for a long time.

That’s just to start?’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘Giu. So what happens after that?’ ‘Whatever needs to happen. That’s the whole point of being strategic.

Really? You didn’t see me?” Bria pushed the door open, her head turned toward a departing Zorn. “You didn’t notice me coming up the walkway before you shut the door in my face? Oh yeah, keep walking. See how that works out for you tonight. Those handcuffs aren’t going to unlock themselves.

What the hell was that action?"Syn asked him. "I think it´s something called ´paternal concern.´" Syn scowled at his bland explanation. "What...? You sure? I thought that crap was a myth." Nykyrian shrugged. "No, really. I watched it once in a documentary. It was fascinating. Belive it or not, there are people out there who actually have feelings for their progeny." "Get the f*ck out. No way. You´re screwing with my head again, aren´t you?" "No, I swear. You just saw it with your own eyes. I did not make this shit up." Syn shivered. "Yeah but it´s really messing with my concept of natural order of the universe. Paternal love? What´s next? Limp regrowth? Genetic splicing reversals?

With a degree of privacy assured, I squatted down and crapped out the biopackage I’d brought along. The human anal cavity has traditionally been a smuggler favorite for most of our existence on Earth. It made me really proud to carry that fine institution on into the starflight era. Yeah, right.

One of the first significant, substantial purchases I made after starting testosterone, was a Compact Colt .45 1991 A1 automatic pistol. It's just about the best penis substitute I've ever waved at a sex partner. I love my gun. Can I get an a-a-ay-men? You better fucking believe I lo-o-ove my gun. I love to take it apart and put it back together and admire...oh,you sexy little death-machine...I suppose I oughta feel guilty or something, loving and fetishizing to the point of anthropomorphizing it it. But I don't. I won't either-don't matter to me whether or not I'm supposed to keep this a dirty little secret. I got a dick and I can kill you with it. Yeah, baby, trip my trigger, why dontcha. Heh.

Ladies and Gentlemen - I'm only going to talk to you just for a minute or so this evening. Because... I have some very sad news for all of you, and I think sad news for all of our fellow citizens, and people who love peace all over the world, and that is that Martin Luther King was shot and was killed tonight in Memphis, Tennessee. Martin Luther King dedicated his life to love and to justice between fellow human beings. He died in the cause of that effort. In this difficult day, in this difficult time for the United States, it's perhaps well to ask what kind of a nation we are and what direction we want to move in. For those of you who are black - considering the evidence evidently is that there were white people who were responsible - you can be filled with bitterness, and with hatred, and a desire for revenge. We can move in that direction as a country, in greater polarization - black people amongst blacks, and white amongst whites, filled with hatred toward one another. Or we can make an effort, as Martin Luther King did, to understand and to comprehend, and replace that violence, that stain of bloodshed that has spread across our land, with an effort to understand, compassion and love. For those of you who are black and are tempted to be filled with hatred and mistrust of the injustice of such an act, against all white people, I would only say that I can also feel in my own heart the same kind of feeling. I had a member of my family killed, but he was killed by a white man. But we have to make an effort in the United States, we have to make an effort to understand, to get beyond these rather difficult times. My favorite poet was Aeschylus. He once wrote: "Even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God." What we need in the United States is not division; what we need in the United States is not hatred; what we need in the United States is not violence and lawlessness, but is love and wisdom, and compassion toward one another, and a feeling of justice toward those who still suffer within our country, whether they be white or whether they be black. (Interrupted by applause) So I ask you tonight to return home, to say a prayer for the family of Martin Luther King, yeah that's true, but more importantly to say a prayer for our own country, which all of us love - a prayer for understanding and that compassion of which I spoke. We can do well in this country. We will have difficult times. We've had difficult times in the past. And we will have difficult times in the future. It is not the end of violence; it is not the end of lawlessness; and it's not the end of disorder. But the vast majority of white people and the vast majority of black people in this country want to live together, want to improve the quality of our life, and want justice for all human beings that abide in our land. Let us dedicate ourselves to what the Greeks wrote so many years ago: to tame the savageness of man and make gentle the life of this world. Let us dedicate ourselves to that, and say a prayer for our country and for our people. Thank you very much.

But I am scared. Everybody's scared." "You know what I mean, like scared scared. Like coward scared, like if you never went to begin with. But with everything you've done nobody's going to doubt you." Then she made a somewhat frantic speech about a website she found that listed how certain people had avoided Vietnam. Cheney, Four education deferments, then a hardship 3-A. Limbaugh,4-F thanks to a cyst on his ass. Pat Buchanan, 4-F. Newt Gingrich, grad school deferment. Karl Rove, did not serve. Bill O'Reilly, did not serve. John Ashcroft, did not serve. Bush, AWOL from the Air National Guard, with a check mark in the "do not volunteer" box as to service overseas. "You see where I'm going with this?' "Well, yeah." "I'm just saying, those people want a war so bad, they can fight it themselves. Billy Lynn's done his part.

Yeah. We consulted our crystal balls, so we knew just when to drop the piano out of the window.” I clapped my hands together. “Splat.” “They

killed fifteen men when I was in combat. Yeah, he was a nurse. Couldn’t read the label on the medicine bottle.

The other thing? You mean the invisible hand on my bells and whistle? Yeah, I don’t need anyone knowing that shit. Sir.

It’s getting cold.” “Yeah, I like it though.”  Sensing my discomfort he said, “Alan, it is what is.  We just got to keep moving.  Like sharks, right?  We stop, we die.

And you’re a disgrace to the Tuttle family, you know? I gotta teach you how to throw a punch and you’re gonna learn how to fucking swim. I’m not jumping in to save your sorry ass every time you can’t figure out how to lift your fat head up out of the bathtub.” Matt said, “Fine.” Petey nodded once and said, “Good.” Matt growled, “Whatever.” “Yeah.” “Done.” “Fuck you.

I’m talking about the sheer delight in looking around and thinking, Oh yeah, I live here. Awesome. Even if you are not living in your dream home, even if you are living in a far cry from your dream home, by treating your space with care, attention, and a little organization, you will feel better about your life overall, because you will have made active choices about how you want to live. You can bring order to your physical world no matter your circumstance.

Maybe we can say I want to make a case for joining Team Fancypants—” “Team Valiant,” Sophie corrected. He smirked. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m never gonna call it that. Just like I’m pretty sure you’re gonna have to get used to me calling you the Lovely Lady F.

I let the divine being leave first and gave him a few minutes to do whatever it was he needed to do to get back to Heaven. It seemed polite, though I’d only made that rule up in my head. When I stepped out of the shack, Quentin was there by the roadside, waiting for me. “Have a nice chat?” I knew his peevish tone was his usual allergic reaction to Erlang Shen, but for some reason I didn’t field it well today. “Yeah, we really connected on an emotional level,” I snapped. “I promised to turn into a stick for him.” That was perhaps the weirdest, most hyper-targeted dig I’d ever leveled at someone, but boy did it work. Quentin looked like I’d broken him in half and left him on the curb for pickup. He was completely silent the entire trip back to civilization. He didn’t call or text me that night either

Parks waits a long while, until he’s absolutely certain that Justineau’s monologue is finished. The truth is, for most of the time he’s been trying to figure out what it is exactly that she’s trying to tell him. Maybe he was right the first time about where they were heading, and Justineau airing her ancient laundry is just a sort of palate-cleanser before they have sex. Probably not, but you never know. In any case, the countermove to a confession is an absolution, unless you think the sin is unforgivable. Parks doesn’t. “It was an accident,” he tells her, pointing out the obvious. “And probably you would have ended up doing the right thing. You don’t strike me as the sort of person who just lets shit slide.” He means that, as far as it goes. One of the things he likes about Justineau is her seriousness. He frigging flat-out hates frivolous, thoughtless people who dance across the surface of the world without looking down. “Yeah, but you don’t get it,” Justineau says. “Why do you think I’m telling you all this?” “I don’t know,” Parks admits. “Why are you telling me?” Justineau steps away from the parapet wall and squares off against him – range, zero metres. It could be erotic, but somehow it’s not. “I killed that boy, Parks. If you turn my life into an equation, the number that comes out is minus one. That’s my lifetime score, you understand me? And you … you and Caldwell, and Private Ginger f**king Rogers … my God, whether it means anything or not, I will die my own self before I let you take me down to minus two.” She says the last words right into his face. Sprays him with little flecks of spit. This close up, dark as it is, he can see her eyes. There’s something mad in them. Something deeply afraid, but it’s damn well not afraid of him. She leaves him with the bottle. It’s not what he was hoping for, but it’s a pretty good consolation prize.

I learned nothing. Seriously, I can't tell you anything about Jews, I am a Jew, and I still deserve an F in Jewishness I think it's Judaism See, that's what I'm talking about. I don't know what Jews believe. Like, do Jews believe in heaven? Are we suppose to believe in that? I don't know. Yeah. Is there Jewish heaven? What happens when Jews die? You know?

Everyone is crazy. It’s the people who go with it, and admit it, that you can trust. So you be crazy, girl. Give that rat bastard hell.” I trudged up onto my first step. “I feel like this conversation has gone a little sideways.” “Yeah. I’m no good at pep talks. Good luck with your thing.” “Thanks for watching my house.” He waved at me and continued walking. He didn’t turn into his

Holy crap! I still have to pinch myself that I have not one, but TWO books out there that are Amazon bestsellers and I'm about to publish my third. I just want to shout out to anyone out there that felt like maybe they weren't good enough. YOU ARE! I struggled with this shit for years, but I'm so grateful that I just followed my gut. DON'T let anyone make you feel you are not worth it. This is coming from a high school dropout that only got her GED (Yeah, whatever, nothing to brag about) But is fulfilling her dreams now as a writer. What I'm saying is, take the dive, you may sink for a little, but doggy paddling along of what you want is so much more than learning the proper stroke on things...if that makes any sense? Be YOU and don't give a f*ck! ~Natalie Barnes

shut the fuck up and let’s go blow the fuck out of those goatherding motherfuckers who have Nathan.” Donovan cracked a smile. “Yippee ki-yay.” “Fuckin’ A.” “Sarah’s been on you about the language, huh.” Garrett snarled in response and then muttered a few more F bombs for good measure. “Yeah, you better get them all out now because when you get back home, no more F words for you.” “Fuck you, Van. Just fuck you.

Instead, he turned to Biana and said, “Did I hear something about an exploding chandelier—because that’s a story I need to hear.” “Uh, yeah!” Ro added. Biana gave a brief retelling, and Keefe smirked at Sophie. “That sounds like our Lovely Lady F—can’t take her anywhere without her trying to blow something up.” “Uh, excuse me, the explosion was Wylie’s doing, not mine,” Sophie argued. “And Biana was the one who suggested we search the Grand Hall.

I looked at him, giggled like a schoolgirl, and asked, “What have you been doing all this time?” “Oh, I was headed home,” he said, fiddling with my fingers. “But then I just turned around; I couldn’t help it.” His hand found my upper back and pulled me closer. The windows were getting foggy. I felt like I was seventeen. “I’ve got this problem,” he continued, in between kisses. “Yeah?” I asked, playing dumb. My hand rested on his left bicep. My attraction soared to the heavens. He caressed the back of my head, messing up my hair…but I didn’t care; I had other things on my mind. “I’m crazy about you,” he said. By now I was on his lap, right in the front seat of his Diesel Ford F250, making out with him as if I’d just discovered the concept. I had no idea how I’d gotten there--the diesel pickup or his lap. But I was there. And, burying my face in his neck, I quietly repeated his sentiments. “I’m crazy about you, too.

I’ll let you help.” When he smiled broadly, because he was getting his way, she cut through his robin-breasted satisfaction. “But there are conditions.” He laughed. “You’re putting restrictions on a gift given to you?” “It’s not a gift.” She stared at him with dead seriousness. “It’s only until I find some kind of work, not my dream job. And I want to pay you back.” He lost a little of his satisfaction. “I don’t want your money.” “And I feel the same way about yours.” She folded her napkin. “I know you’re not hurting for cash, but that’s the only way I’ll be okay with this.” He frowned. “No interest, though. I won’t accept even one penny in interest.” “Deal.” She put her palm out and waited. He cursed. And cursed again. “I don’t want you to pay it back.” “Tough.” After his mouth performed some intricate f-bomb acrobatics, he put his hand in hers and they shook. “You drive a hard bargain, you know that,” he said. “But you respect me for it, right?” “Well, yeah. And it makes me want to get you naked.” “Oh…” Ehlena flushed from head to toe as he slid off his stool and towered over her, cupping her face in his hands. “You going to let me take you to my bed?” Given the way those purple eyes of his were shining, she was willing to let him take her down on the damn kitchen floor if he asked. “Yes.” A growl rolled up out of his chest as he kissed her. “Guess what?” “What?” she breathed. “That was the right answer.” -Ehlena & Rehv

Grabbing my hair and pulling it to the point my skull throbs, I rock back and forth while insanity threatens to destroy my mind completely. Father finally did what Lachlan started. Destroyed my spirit. The angel is gone. The monster has come and killed her. Lachlan Sipping his whiskey, Shon gazes with a bored expression at the one-way mirror as Arson lights the match, grazing the skin of his victim with it as the man convulses in fear. “Show off,” he mutters, and on instinct, I slap the back of his head. He rubs it, spilling the drink. “The fuck? We are wasting time, Lachlan. Tell him to speed up. You know if you let him, he can play for hours.” All in good time, we don’t need just a name. He is saving him for a different kind of information that we write down as Sociopath types furiously on his computer, searching for the location and everything else using FBI databases. “Bingo!” Sociopath mutters, picking up the laptop and showing the screen to me. “It’s seven hours away from New York, in a deserted location in the woods. The land belongs to some guy who is presumed dead and the man accrued the right to build shelters for abused women. They actually live there as a place of new hope or something.” Indeed, the center is advertised as such and has a bunch of stupid reviews about it. Even the approval of a social worker, but then it doesn’t surprise me. Pastor knows how to be convincing. “Kids,” I mutter, fisting my hands. “Most of them probably have kids. He continues to do his fucked-up shit.” And all these years, he has been under my radar. I throw the chair and it bounces off the wall, but no one says anything as they feel the same. “Shon, order a plane. Jaxon—” “Yeah, my brothers will be there with us. But listen, the FBI—” he starts, and I nod. He takes a beat and quickly sends a message to someone on his phone while I bark into the microphone. “Arson, enough with the bullshit. Kill him already.” He is of no use to us anyway. Arson looks at the wall and shrugs. Then pours gas on his victim and lights up the match simultaneously, stepping aside as the man screams and thrashes on the chair, and the smell of burning flesh can be sensed even here. Arson jogs to a hose, splashing water over him. The room is designed security wise for this kind of torture, since fire is one of the first things I taught. After all, I’d learned the hard way how to fight with it. “On the plane, we can adjust the plan. Let’s get moving.” They spring into action as I go to my room to get a specific folder to give to Levi before I go, when Sociopath’s hand stops me, bumping my shoulder. “Is this a suicide mission for you?” he asks, and I smile, although it lacks any humor. My friend knows everything. Instead of answering his question, I grip his shoulder tight, and confide, “Valencia is entrusted to you.” We both know that if I want to destroy Pastor, I have to die with him. This revenge has been twenty-three years in the making, and I never envisioned a different future. This path always leads to death one way or another, and the only reason I valued my life was because I had to kill him. Valencia will be forever free from the evils that destroyed her life. I’ll make sure of it. Once upon a time, there was an angel. Who made the monster’s heart bleed.

I suck at this spillin’ my guts stuff. I always have. You know that probably better’n anyone.” “Yeah, well, it’s a lousy excuse. It always has been.” Trevor slowly lifted his head and gave Edgard an incredulous look. “How is that smartass answer supposed to help me?” “Oh, so now you want my help?” “Well yeah, since it’s obvious I f**ked up and it’s obvious you think you know how to fix it.” “Fine.” Edgard pointed to the cell phone clipped on the dash. “Call her. Say, ‘Baby, I’m sorry I was an ass**le. I love you’, but for Christsake don’t qualify it.” “Qualify it, meanin’ what?” “Don’t tack on, ‘I was an ass**le because I’m under stress’, just apologize. Period.” They stared at each other. “That’s it?” “Sometimes the smallest gestures have the biggest impact.” “Can’t be that easy,” Trevor muttered, snatching the phone. He faced out the driver’s side window but didn’t lower his voice.

Zap. Sports channel. Normal is nine innings, four balls, three strikes, somebody wins, somebody loses, there’s no such thing as a tie. Zap. Normal is unreal people, mostly rich unreal people, having sex with rappers and basketball players and thinking of their unreal family as a real-world brand, like Pepsi or Drano or Ford. Zap. News channels. Normal is guns and the normal America that really wants to be great again. Then there’s another normal if your skin color is the wrong color and another if you’re educated and another if you think education is brainwashing and there’s an America that believes in vaccines for kids and another that says that’s a con trick and everything one normal believes is a lie to another normal and they’re all on TV depending where you look, so, yeah, it’s confusing. I’m really trying to understand which this is America now. Zap zap zap. A man with his head in a bag being shot by a man without a shirt on. A fat man in a red hat screaming at men and women also fat also in red hats about victory, We’re undereducated and overfed. We’re full of pride over who the f*ck knows. We drive to the emergency room and send Granny to get our guns and cigarettes. We don’t need no stinkin’ allies cause we’re stupid and you can suck our dicks. We are Beavis and Butt-Head on ’roids. We drink Roundup from the can. Our president looks like a Christmas ham and talks like Chucky. We’re America, bitch. Zap. Immigrants raping our women every day. We need Space Force because Space ISIS. Zap. Normal is Upside-Down Land. Our old friends are our enemies now and our old enemy is our pal. Zap, zap. Men and men, women and women in love. The purple mountains’ majesty. A man with an oil painting of himself with Jesus hanging in his living room. Dead schoolkids. Hurricanes. Beauty. Lies. Zap, zap, zap. “Normal doesn’t feel so normal to me,” I tell him. “It’s normal to feel that way,” he replies.

Nick found Gabriel in his bedroom, sitting cross-legged on his bed, surrounded by textbooks. Headphones trailed from his ears, and his pencil tapped in time with whatever he was listening to. He either didn’t notice Nick standing at the door, or he deliberately wasn’t looking up. Nick wanted to shove him off the bed and kick him in the face. Not aggressive, my ass. Gabriel finally looked up and yanked the headphones free. “So I have to leave you alone, but you get to stand there like a freaky stalker?” Oh, good. New adjectives. Nick told his heartbeat to chill out. He pushed Gabriel’s door open. “I need to talk to you about something.” Gabriel stared at him. Nick could read the debate on his face: screw with Nick or just play it easy. He went with the latter. His pencil dropped into the spine of his trig textbook. “Okay. Talk.” “If you grabbed someone by the wrist, could you set their skin on fire without anyone knowing you were doing it?” Gabriel’s eyebrows went up. “Not exactly what I thought you’d want to talk about.” Nick didn’t have an answer for that. He kept his gaze steady and waited. “Look, Nicky . . .” Gabriel hesitated. “Whatever I did to piss you off, just—” “Forget it.” Nick was halfway out his door before Gabriel slid off the bed to grab his arm. “Stop,” said his twin. “I’ll answer your question, all right?” Nick stopped, but he didn’t look at him... Gabriel drew a ragged breath, and it took Nick a second to even remember his question about burning. “I don’t know. I’d have to try it. It would take a lot of control. A lot of focus.” “Fine.” Nick held out his wrist, the good one. “Try it.” “Okay.” Nick braced himself, but Gabriel turned his head. “Hey, Chris. Come here. I want to try something.” Chris came out of his room, took one look at them, and turned around. “No way. I know that look.” But Gabriel was too quick. He rushed around Nick and caught Chris’s door before it latched. He forced his way through. And five seconds later, Chris was yelling and punching him and shoving past Nick to get to the bathroom. He was clutching his wrist. “What the f**k, Gabriel?” Then the door slammed and the water was running. Gabriel turned to Nick and smiled. “So, yeah. I can do it.

After a torrent of rapid knocking, Lucy swept past her in the hallway, threw her purse on the table, and landed her ass on the couch before turning expectantly toward Riley and patting the couch next to her. Her dark eyes examined every nuance of Riley’s appearance. “Okay, dish,” she demanded. “Every last detail.” Riley rolled her eyes and shook her head as she scooted across the floor in her sock feet. She didn’t feel great, but at least she wasn’t in full torture mode. She thought Lucy might have waited until afternoon instead of showing up at ten-thirty a.m. but what the hell. Her old sweatshirt hugged against her stomach as she pulled her arms together. “Well,” she feigned ignorance, “what do you want to talk about?” Lucy slammed her hand on the couch. “Oh, don’t you even. Right now.” She threw herself back against the couch, her face fixed in a not-to-be-toyed-with expression. Riley noted with mild interest how her breasts jiggled inside her white t-shirt. Maybe she was turning into some kind of sex fiend. “Okay, yes, he sets me on fire. I can’t help it. Blame my gender lineage.” “I could see he set you fire. Your eyes could hardly look at anything else.” She picked at a tear in her faded jeans then flared back at Riley with an expression of awe. “Of course, my eyes had a few spasms of their own in his direction. Shit, the man is a god. I can’t remember seeing a body that well put together. At least,” she arched her back, “not a male body.” Riley threw back her head and laughed. Lucy was good tonic, at the very least. “Oh my god, can you stand it?!” “No—but tell me you didn’t give in, before I pass out.” “No, we didn’t have sex. But he did kiss me and my panties nearly fell straight to my ankles,” she chuckled. “He stopped himself, thank god, or I would have had him right there on the floor.” “You were drunk.” “Oh, yeah, ridiculous drunk. He ordered steaks delivered while he drove me home, and then sliced the steak for me and practically put it in my mouth.” She couldn’t sit still, the memory forcing her up from the couch to pace. She’d spent the entire morning and half the night trying to forget everything about him, and of course the other half had been consumed with remembering everything about him. “Shit. Fire.” Lucy’s glance followed her. “I want some. Can we have him?

You know what Dex has everyone calling me now?” she asked. “I’m sure you’d be proud of him.” “The Mysterious Lady F?” Ro guessed. “Ugh, I wish. Nope, it’s… Lady Fos-Boss.” The confession was almost worth it when Keefe couldn’t help giving her a quick smirk. “I knew I liked that boy,” Ro announced. “In fact, I even tried out one of his little tricks—see?” She pointed to Sophie’s desk, and it took Sophie a second to figure out what she meant. “You changed Iggy’s color?” she asked, heading over to his cage, where, sure enough, the tiny imp had yet another new look. His neatly trimmed, gold, sparkly fur was now a much poofier ice blue with tiny crimps. “Huh, I figured he’d be pink and purple,” Sophie admitted, pointing to Ro’s colorful pigtails. Ro tossed her head, swishing her hair in the process. “Uh, no, I’m not sharing my fabulous style with anyone—much less a creature who spent the last hour eating his own toenails. But I thought it was only right to save your imp from being sparkle-fied—and I was going to be nice and turn him your favorite color. But apparently your favorite color is teal—and yeah, yeah, we all know why. But, um, do you realize how many of the nastiest little microbes are that color?” She shuddered. “I couldn’t do that to you—or the little dude. So I went with a nice ice blue. The kind of color you can’t help but love. Classic. Reliable—

Hmm. Feels like my brilliant pep talk isn’t doing its job—so how about we play Name That Baby Alicorn? Otherwise I’m going to call them Sparkle Tushie Number One and Number Two. Actually, I’m probably going to call them that anyway—but I might occasionally go with something more official, as long as Mama and Papa pick something that pleases me.” Silveny didn’t seem to understand anything he was saying, so Sophie did her best to explain telepathically. Name baby? Name baby? Silveny asked, glancing at Greyfell. “I don’t think they’ve picked anything yet,” Sophie told Keefe. He clapped his hands. “Perfect! It’s a girl and a boy, right? So how about Keeferina and the Keefster?” “Keeferina?” Sophie had to ask. Even Silveny looked like she was wincing. “Or Keefette. Or Keefelle. Or Keefiana. Honestly, I thought you’d fight me harder on the Keefster.” “How about nothing with Keefe?” Sophie suggested. “See, but there really is no better name, is there?” He glanced at Silveny, who definitely did not chant any Keefes. “Fine. Your loss. How about an homage to the Mysterious Miss F instead? We could have a little Sophie and a little Foster—though now that I’m saying that out loud, I’m realizing how confusing that would get. What’s your middle name, again? Something with an E?” “Elizabeth,” Sophie confirmed. “What’s yours?” “It’s ‘Nope’—as in nope, we’re so not going there.” “Why not?” Ro asked, momentarily breaking the Bo-Ro glarefest. “Because I have enough humiliation in my immediate future, thanks to you,” he told her. “Yeah, I think you’re going to have to tell me now,” Sophie insisted. “See, but I’m too busy naming alicorn babies. They’re silver, right? So how about Sterling and Argent?” “Argent?” Sophie repeated. “Yeah, wow, I’m pretty bad at this. You might want to help, or I’m going back to Keeferina.

I just realized I know nothing about you. Do you have a family? Where are you from?” The idea that I just invited a relative stranger, who owns nothing, to live in my apartment gave me a stomachache, but the weird thing was that I felt like I had known him forever. “I’m from Detroit; my entire family still lives there. My mom works in a bakery at a grocery store and my dad is a retired electrician. I have twelve brothers and sisters.” “Really? I’m an only child. I can’t imagine having a huge family like that—it must have been awesome!” Relaxing his stance, he leaned his tattooed forearm onto the dresser and crossed his feet. Jackson came over and sat next to him. Will unconsciously began petting Jackson’s head. It made my heart warm. “Actually, I don’t have twelve brothers and sisters. I have one brother and eleven sisters.” He paused. “I’m dead serious. My brother Ray is the oldest and I’m the youngest with eleven girls in between. I swear my parents just wanted to give Ray a brother, so they kept having more babies. By the time I was born, Ray was sixteen and didn’t give a shit. On top of it, they all have R names except me. It’s a f**king joke.” “You’re kidding? Name ‘em,” I demanded. In a super-fast voice Will recited, “Raymond, Reina, Rachelle, Rae, Riley, Rianna, Reese, Regan, Remy, Regina, Ranielle, Rebecca, and then me, Will.” “Surely they could have figured out another R name?” “Well my brother was named after my dad, so my mom felt like I should be named after someone too, being the only other boy and all. So I was named after my grandfather… Wilbur Ryan.” “Oh my god!” I burst into laughter. “Your name is Wilbur?” “Hey, woman, that’s my poppy’s name, too.” Still giggling, I said, “I’m sorry, I just expected William.” “Yeah, it’s okay. Everyone does.” He smiled and winked at me again.

... And I said: 'What kind of trouble with your drama teacher?' She said: 'Well I'm having difficulty with the feelings.' I said: 'The... the f-feelings?' She said: 'You know...' ...she said: 'You know the, the feelings.' Like I would know. I said 'You saw me in a play?' She said. 'Yeah' 'And you thought it was good?' And she said 'Yeah, thought it was absolutely marv- ... ' I said 'Well, I can absolutely guarantee you that I'm not feeling anything. I'm at work. D'you know what I mean? I'm a bit busy. I'm a bit pushed. I have to do - I have to achieve about... 1500 things over a period of two and half hours or whatever the play length might be. I have to make love to a woman, smoke cigarettes, reach the door handle, hit the door handle when that verbal cue comes coz otherwise the lights will go funny, I have to, you know, get semi-naked and eat chilli con carne. You know. I'm occupied. I can't be feeling stuff. You know, that I do on my own time.' And you can't phone up on a wet Wednesday and say: 'D'you know what? [shakes head sadly]... I'm not feeling it. So I don't think I'll come in today.' People who teach acting they have to talk for a very long time. Sometimes two years of talk. Or sometimes three. And there isn't that much to say. And they start making it up, sometimes. Or they'll concentrate on things that are undeniable. Like you can't say: 'I am feeling it.' 'No you're not. No, I can't... you know, you're not feel-... I can't... you know, I'm sorry but I just - you're not feeling it, you gotta feel it.' 'Yeah I am. I think I'm feeling it...' You know, it's all completely unnecessary. The audience have no interest in what you might be feeling. You're supposed to give the appearance of feeling something. Like you did when you were a kid. It is an extension of what you did in the back yard when you played the bank robber and the other guy played... the policeman.

No Big Deal or the End of the World? Here’s something that should be obvious: People don’t like to have their grievances downplayed or dismissed. When that happens, even the smallest irritation can turn into an obsessive crusade. Imagine you’re staying at a hotel, and the air-conditioning isn’t working right. You call the front desk to mention it, and they say, oh yeah, they know about that, and someone is going to come fix that next week (after you’ve left). In the meantime, could you just open a window (down to that noisy, busy street)? Not a word of apology, no tone of contrition. Now what was a mild annoyance—that it’s 74F degrees when you like to sleep at 69F—is suddenly the end of the world! You swell with righteous fury, swear you’ll write a letter to management, and savage the hotel in your online review. Jean-Louis Gassée, who used to run Apple France, describes this situation as the choice between two tokens. When you deal with people who have trouble, you can either choose to take the token that says “It’s no big deal” or the token that says “It’s the end of the world.” Whichever token you pick, they’ll take the other. The hotel staff in the example above clearly took the “It’s no big deal” token and as a result forced you to take the “It’s the end of the world” token. But they could just as well have made the opposite choice. Imagine the staff answering something like this: “We’re so sorry. That’s clearly unacceptable! I can completely understand how it must be almost impossible to sleep when it’s so hot in your room. If I can’t fix this problem for you tonight, would you like me to refund your stay and help you find a different hotel room nearby? In any case, while we’re figuring out the solution, allow me to send up a bottle of ice water and some ice cream. We’re terribly sorry for this ordeal and we’ll do everything to make it right.” With an answer like that, you’re almost forced to pick the “It’s no big deal” token. Yeah, sure, some water and ice cream would be great! Everyone wants to be heard and respected. It usually doesn’t cost much to do, either. And it doesn’t really matter all that much whether you ultimately think you’re right and they’re wrong. Arguing with heated feelings will just increase the burn. Keep that in mind the next time you take a token. Which one are you leaving for the customer?

She clicks on the last slide, and that’s when it happens. “Me So Horny” blasts out of the speakers and my video, mine and Peter’s, flashes on the projector screen. Someone has taken the video from Anonybitch’s Instagram and put their own soundtrack to it. They’ve edited it too, so I bop up and down on Peter’s lap at triple speed to the beat. Oh no no no no. Please, no. Everything happens at once. People are shrieking and laughing and pointing and going “Oooh!” Mr. Vasquez is jumping up to unplug the projector, and then Peter’s running onstage, grabbing the microphone out of a stunned Reena’s hand. “Whoever did that is a piece of garbage. And not that it’s anybody’s fucking business, but Lara Jean and I did not have sex in the hot tub.” My ears are ringing, and people are twisting around in their seats to look at me and then shifting back around to look at Peter. “All we did was kiss, so fuck off!” Mr. Vasquez, the junior class advisor, is trying to grab the mic back from Peter, but Peter manages to maintain control of it. He holds the mic up high and yells out, “I’m gonna find whoever did this and kick their ass!” In the scuffle, he drops the mic. People are cheering and laughing. Peter’s being frog-marched off the stage, and he frantically looks out into the audience. He’s looking for me. The assembly breaks up then, and everyone starts filing out the doors, but I stay low in my seat. Chris comes and finds me, face alight. She grabs me by the shoulders. “Ummm, that was crazy! He freaking dropped the F bomb twice!” I am still in a state of shock, maybe. A video of me and Peter hot and heavy was just on the projector screen, and everyone saw Mr. Vasquez, seventy-year-old Mr. Glebe who doesn’t even know what Instagram is. The only passionate kiss of my life and everybody saw. Chris shakes my shoulders. “Lara Jean! Are you okay?” I nod mutely, and she releases me. “He’s kicking whoever did it’s ass? I’d love to see that!” She snorts and throws her head back like a wild pony. “I mean, the boy’s an idiot if he thinks for one second it wasn’t Gen who posted that video. Like, wow, those are some serious blinders, y’know?” Chris stops short and examines my face. “Are you sure you’re okay?” “Everybody saw us.” “Yeah…that sucked. I’m sure that was Gen’s handiwork. She must’ve gotten one of her little minions to sneak it onto Reena’s PowerPoint.” Chris shakes her head in disgust. “She’s such a bitch. I’m glad Peter set the record straight, though. Like, I hate to give him credit, but that was an act of chivalry. No guy has ever set the record straight for me.

You’re…you’re what? Where?” I stood up and glimpsed myself in the mirror. I was a vision, having changed into satin pajama pants, a torn USC sweatshirt, and polka-dotted toe socks, and to top it off, my hair was fastened in a haphazard knot on the top of my head with a no. 2 Ticonderoga pencil. Who wouldn’t want me? “I’m outside,” he repeated, throwing in a trademark chuckle just to be extra mean. “Get out here.” “But…but…,” I stalled, hurriedly sliding the pencil out of my hair and running around the room, stripping off my pathetic house clothes and searching in vain for my favorite faded jeans. “But…but…I’m in my pajamas.” Another trademark chuckle. “So?” he asked. “You’d better get out here or I’m comin’ in…” “Okay, okay…,” I replied. “I’ll be right down.” Panting, I settled for my second-favorite jeans and my favorite sweater of all time, a faded light blue turtleneck I’d worn so much, it was almost part of my anatomy. Brushing my teeth in ten seconds flat, I scurried down the stairs and out the front door. Marlboro Man was standing outside his pickup, hands inside his pockets, his back resting against the driver-side door. He grinned, and as I walked toward him, he stood up and walked toward me, too. We met in the middle--in between his vehicle and the front door--and without a moment of hesitation, greeted each other with a long, emotional kiss. There was nothing funny or lighthearted about it. That kiss meant business. Our lips separated for a short moment. “I like your sweater,” he said, looking at the light blue cotton rib as if he’d seen it before. I’d hurriedly thrown it on the night we’d met a few months earlier. “I think I wore this to the J-bar that night…,” I said. “Do you remember?” “Ummm, yeah,” he said, pulling me even closer. “I remember.” Maybe the sweater had magical powers. I’d have to be sure to hold on to it. We kissed again, and I shivered in the cold night air. Wanting to get me out of the cold, he led me to his pickup and opened the door so we could both climb in. The pickup was still warm and toasty, like a campfire was burning in the backseat. I looked at him, giggled like a schoolgirl, and asked, “What have you been doing all this time?” “Oh, I was headed home,” he said, fiddling with my fingers. “But then I just turned around; I couldn’t help it.” His hand found my upper back and pulled me closer. The windows were getting foggy. I felt like I was seventeen. “I’ve got this problem,” he continued, in between kisses. “Yeah?” I asked, playing dumb. My hand rested on his left bicep. My attraction soared to the heavens. He caressed the back of my head, messing up my hair…but I didn’t care; I had other things on my mind. “I’m crazy about you,” he said. By now I was on his lap, right in the front seat of his Diesel Ford F250, making out with him as if I’d just discovered the concept. I had no idea how I’d gotten there--the diesel pickup or his lap. But I was there. And, burying my face in his neck, I quietly repeated his sentiments. “I’m crazy about you, too.

We kissed again, and I shivered in the cold night air. Wanting to get me out of the cold, he led me to his pickup and opened the door so we could both climb in. The pickup was still warm and toasty, like a campfire was burning in the backseat. I looked at him, giggled like a schoolgirl, and asked, “What have you been doing all this time?” “Oh, I was headed home,” he said, fiddling with my fingers. “But then I just turned around; I couldn’t help it.” His hand found my upper back and pulled me closer. The windows were getting foggy. I felt like I was seventeen. “I’ve got this problem,” he continued, in between kisses. “Yeah?” I asked, playing dumb. My hand rested on his left bicep. My attraction soared to the heavens. He caressed the back of my head, messing up my hair…but I didn’t care; I had other things on my mind. “I’m crazy about you,” he said. By now I was on his lap, right in the front seat of his Diesel Ford F250, making out with him as if I’d just discovered the concept. I had no idea how I’d gotten there--the diesel pickup or his lap. But I was there. And, burying my face in his neck, I quietly repeated his sentiments. “I’m crazy about you, too.” I’d been afflicted with acute boy-craziness for over half my life. But what I was feeling for Marlboro Man was indescribably powerful. It was a primal attraction--the almost uncontrollable urge to wrap my arms and legs around him every time I looked into his eyes. The increased heart rate and respiration every time I heard his voice. The urge to have twelve thousand of his babies…and I wasn’t even sure I wanted children. “So anyway,” he continued. That’s when we heard the loud knocking on the pickup window. I jumped through the roof--it was after 2:00 A.M. Who on earth could it be? The Son of Sam--it had to be! Marlboro Man rolled down the window, and a huge cloud of passion and steam escaped. It wasn’t the Son of Sam. Worse--it was my mother. And she was wearing her heather gray cashmere robe. “Reeee?” she sang. “Is that yoooou?” She leaned closer and peered through the window. I slid off of Marlboro Man’s lap and gave her a halfhearted wave. “Uh…hi, Mom. Yeah. It’s just me.” She laughed. “Oh, okay…whew! I just didn’t know who was out here. I didn’t recognize the car!” She looked at Marlboro Man, whom she’d met only one time before, when he picked me up for a date. “Well, hello again!” she exclaimed, extending her manicured hand. He took her hand and shook it gently. “Hello, ma’am,” he replied, his voice still thick with lust and emotion. I sank in my seat. I was an adult, and had just been caught parking at 2:00 A.M. in the driveway of my parents’ house by my robe-wearing mother. She’d seen the foggy windows. She’d seen me sitting on his lap. I felt like I’d just gotten grounded. “Well, okay, then,” my mom said, turning around. “Good night, you two!” And with that, she flitted back into the house. Marlboro Man and I looked at each other. I hid my face in my hands and shook my head. He chuckled, opened the door, and said, “C’mon…I’d better get you home before curfew.” My sweaty hands still hid my face. He walked me to the door, and we stood on the top step. Wrapping his arms around my waist, he kissed me on the nose and said, “I’m glad I came back.” God, he was sweet. “I’m glad you did, too,” I replied. “But…” I paused for a moment, gathering courage. “Did you have something you wanted to say?” It was forward, yes--gutsy. But I wasn’t going to let this moment pass. I didn’t have many more moments with him, after all; soon I’d be gone to Chicago. Sitting in coffee shops at eleven at night, if I wanted. Working. Eventually going back to school. I’d be danged if I was going to miss what he’d started to say a few minutes earlier, before my mom and her cashmere robe showed up and spoiled everything.

This is completely wrong, Manson argues, because happiness is a fleeting state. Once we solve our momentary happiness algorithm, a new algorithm will inevitably appear, whispering to us that yeah, X is okay, but if we could just achieve something even better, then we’d really have it made. Everything is relative.

I guess I must have verbally expressed my disappointment over losing the online auction for my kickass boots, since Becca said, "You sure do swear a lot." I shrugged and pointed at the swear jar. "I'm supposed to put a dollar in it every time I curse. But I don't think I'm that bad." I didn't add that at the apartment my roommate, Gina, and I shared, she'd installed a swear jar, too. "You're that bad," Becca said. "You said the F-word, like, five times in a row." I tried not to sound indignant. "Swearing is a proven stress reliever. You should try it instead of doing that to yourself." I nodded toward her bandaged arm. "When I'm under a lot of stress, dropping a couple of f-bombs makes me feel a lot better." "What have you got to feel stressed about?" She looked around the office. "This doesn't seem like such a hard job." "Oh yeah? You don't know the half of it." My job wasn't the problem. It was my personal life that was currently going down the toilet. "I'm not even getting paid for this." "What?" Becca came out of her daze a little, seeming genuinely surprised, but not enough to let go of the horse pendant. "How come?" "Because there are, like, nine hundred applicants with way more experience than people my age for every job that comes available. We all have to work for free just to get some experience, so we can put it on our résumés so we can maybe get a paying job someday, but there's no guarantee we will. Oh, right, I forgot they don't mention this in high school. You''re still brimming with hope and joie de vivre.

Oh yeah, and she was a woman. There wasn’t a chance in all Death’s playground that she would fit into this crowd.

Yeah! Hugs all around for Dominic and Bronagh announcing they are going to f**k like rabbits to try and conceive a child! Wahoo!

You were a fucking moron to think this girl wanted anything more from you. I’m just her meal ticket, the same as I was for the rest of them. Red-hot rage builds in my chest as I stand there, staring at the screen, waiting for another email to pop up in the chain so I can write FUCK OFF in capital letters, repeated hundreds of times. What should I do? Confront her? No. I stride out of the room and slam the door, relishing the sound of it. I’m going to make Princess Daisy’s life hell. F*CK THE ROYALS! Madness in Harronvale Café Daisy Cheeseburgers. Sometimes I dream about the taste of them. The fried onions cooked in the ground beef patty, the toasted sesame bun, American cheese oozing over the whole thing, and the tang of ketchup to accompany it. Yeah, I fantasize about them a lot. I sometimes smell them. The moment I wake up, it hits my nose. I open my eyes, waiting for it to disappear, but the greasy smell doesn’t disappear. I nearly fall over my sheets in my haste to get out of bed. Anglefell doesn’t have a burger joint. I don’t think I’ve ever gone this long without a burger or a pizza. I haven’t realized how much I need fast food until the tantalizing scent hits my stomach. I burst through the guest room door and walk toward it. Liam sits on the couch with his feet kicked up on the coffee table. There’s a half-eaten carton of french fries next to him with a little tub of red paste, and in his hand is a giant cheeseburger. He bites into it, and I imagine the taste exploding over my own tongue. He chews loudly, the sound carrying across the room. He gives the burger a thoughtful look. “Wow—this is—really adequate.” I make a strangled sound,

AT: oKAYYYY, mY BROMO SAPIEN, AT: r U READY, AT: tO GET STRAIGHT IN, FLAT DOWN, BROAD SIDE, SCHOOL FED UP THE BONE BULGE, AT: bY A DOPE SMACKED, TRINKED OUT, SMOTHER FUDGING, AT: tROLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL, TG: dont care AT: oK, lET ME, AT: oRGANIZE MY NOTES HERE, AT: oKAYYY, AT: (tURN ON SOME STRICT BEATS MAYBE, iT WILL HELP TO LISTEN TO THEM WHILE i DESTROY YOU,) AT: wHEN THE POLICE MAN BUSTS ME, aND POPS THE TRUNK, AT: hE'S ALL SUPRISED TO FIND I'M TOTING SICK BILLY, AT: wHOSE, AT: gOAT IS THAT, hE ASKS, wHILE HE STOPS TO THUNK AT: aBOUT IT, aND i'S JUST SAY IT'S DAVE'S, yOU SILLY AT: gOOSE, AT: bUT THE MAN SAYS, gOOSE! wHERE, lET ME SEE YOUR HANDS, AT: aND i SAY SHIT SORRY, i DIDN'T KNOW IT WAS HONKTRABAND, AT: wOW, oK, AT: i AM GETTING OFF THE POINT, wHICH WAS, AT: aBOUT THIS HOT MESS DAVE, tHAT YOU GOT LANDED IN, AT: lIKE THE COP i MENTIONED, bUT INSTEAD OF YOUR BADGE, AT: aND YOUR GUN, IT'S YOUR ASS THAT YOU HANDED IN, AT: (aND THEN GOT HANDED BACK TO YOU,) AT: cAUSE THAT'S HOW HUMANS GET SERVED, AT: aND GUYS LIKE YOU DESERVE TO UNDERSTAND THAT iT'S, AT: a CIRCLE AND HORNS IN YOUR BUTT THAT GOT BRANDED IN, AT: (uMM, bEFORE i GAVE YOUR ASS BACK TO YOU, i DID THAT, iS WHAT i MEAN,) AT: bUT i MEAN, gETTING BACK TO THE POINT, oR MAYBE TWO ACTUALLY, AT: tHE FIRST IS YOU SUCK, aND THE SECOND IS HOW i SMACKEDYOUFULLY, AT: (oH YEAH, tHAT RHYME WAS SO ILLLLLLLLL,) AT: bUT NO, jUST JOKING, lET'S SEE, hOW CAN i PUT THIS TACTFULLULLY, AT: i MEAN THE POINTS ON THE HORNS ON MY HEAD, AT: cOMING AT YOU THROUGH TRAFFIC, AT: aIMED AT THE TARGET ON YOUR SHIRT THAT IS RED, AT: wE'RE ABOUT TO GET MAD HORNOGRAPHIC, AT: (i MEAN SORT OF LIKE A GRAPHIC CRIME SCENE, nOT LIKE,) AT: (aNYTHING SEXUAL,) AT: (eRR, wHOAAAAA,) AT: (nEVERMIND,) AT: oK, gETTING BACK TO THE ACTUAL, tACTICAL, vERNACULAR SMACKCICLE, AT: i'M FORCING YOU TO BE LICKING, (aND lIKING,) AT: gRAB MY HORNS AND START KICKING, lIKE YOU'RE RIDING A VIKING, AT: cAUSE i'M YOUR BULLY, aND YOU'RE NOT IN CHARGE, AT: yOU THINK YOU'RE IN CHARGE BUT YOU'RE NOT IN CHARGE, AT: i'M IN CHARGE, cAUSE i'M CHARGING IN, AT: yOUR CHINASHOP, AT: bREAKING, uH, yOUR PLATES AND STUFF, WHICH i DON'T REALLY KNOW, AT: wHAT THE PLATES ARE SUPPOSED TO REPRESENT, bUT, AT: (fUCK,) AT: iT'S JUST THAT YOU THINK YOU ARE THE COCK OF THE WALK'S HOT SHIT AT: bUT WHEN IN FACT YOU ARE NOT, mORE LIKE YOU ARE, AT: sOMETHING THAT RHYMES WITH THE COCK OF THE WALK'S HOT SHIT, AT: bUT IS SO MUCH WORSE THAN THE COCK'S SHIT, AT: sO, gIVEN THAT, lET ME BE THE FIRST, AT: tO SAY YOU ACT LIKE YOU'RE GOLD FROM PROSPIT, AT: wHEN YOU'RE REALLY COLD SHIT FLUSHED FROM DERSE,

Had... had a blind soul. It's waking up-to art, people ... men." "Yeah? It's kind of painful," I say. "Like being dropped into ice water." "That's the nature of the truth, though. What's fun about being dropped into ice water? That's why half the world walks around wearing rose colored glasses, watching comedies and reading romance books." I look at her out of the corner of my eye. I like comedies and romance. "If you're such a realist, why do you dress the way you do?" I ask her. "You dress like a fairy, wearing the same color every day." "I dress the way I want the world to look. I'm living out my fantasy visually. But I'm not sheltering myself mentally.

So, I gave him pieces of me but kept just enough of myself to not go missing. I’d been there and done that before. Have you ever felt empty because you filled a nigga’s cup, and all he did was pour yours out? Yeah… that’s where I had been. It was a shitty place, and I vowed to never go back there. To never let a man, no matter how much I loved him, deplete me.

Yeah, you're right! I'm not his princess. I'm his f**king queen!

Deprive a cat of sleep and it would die in two weeks. Deprive a human and he would become psychotic. His work was killing people. How was he supposed to frighten these guys? Run up behind them in a halloween mask and shout boo? He never saw the point of views -- what did it matter if it was an ocean or a brick wall you were looking at? People travelled hundreds, sometimes thousands of miles to commit suicide someplace with a beautiful view. Did a view matter when oblivion beckoned? They could put him in a garbage bin after he was gone, for all he cared. That's all the human race was anyway. Garbage with attitude. A cutting word is worse than a bowstring. A cut may heal but a cut of the tongue does not. The Sakawa students were all from poor, underprivileged backgrounds. Sakawa was a mix of religious juju and modern internet technology. They were taught, in structured classes, the art of online fraud as well as arcane African rituals -- which included animal sacrifice -- to have a voodoo effect on their victims, ensuring the success of each fraud. of which there was a wide variety. The British Empire spend five hundred years plundering the world. The word is 'thanks'. 'That's what it is, Roy! He won't come out, he has locked the doors! What if he self-harms, Roy! I mean -- what if he kills himself?' 'I will have to take him off my Christmas list.' "Any chance you can recover any of it?' 'You sitting near a window, Gerry?' 'Near a window? Sure, right by a window?' 'Can you see the sky?' 'Uh-huh. Got a clear view.' 'See any pigs flying past?' To dream of death is good for those in fear, for the death have no more fears. '...Cleo took me to the opera once. I spent the whole time praying for a fat lady to come on stage and start singing. Or a heart attack --whichever come sooner.' '..there is something strongly powerful -- almost magnetic -- about internet romances. A connection that is far stronger than a traditional meeting of two people. Maybe because on the internet you can lie all the time, each person gives the other their good side. It's intoxicating. That's one of the things which makes it so dangerous -- and such easy pickings for fraudsters.' He was more than a little pleased that he was about to ruin his boss's morning -- and, with a bit of luck, his entire day. ..a guy who had been born angry and had just got even angrier with each passing year. '...Then at some point in the future, I'll probably die in an overcrowded hospital corridor with some bloody hung-over medical student jumping up and down on my chest because they couldn't find a defibrillator. 'Give me your hand, bro,' the shorter one said. 'That one, the right one, yeah.' On the screen the MasterChef contestant said, 'Now with a sharp knife...' Jules de Copland drove away from Gatwick Airport in.a new car, a small Kia, hired under a different name and card, from a different rental firm, Avis. 'I was talking about her attitude. But I'll tell you this, Roy. The day I can't say a woman -- or a man -- is plug ugly, that's the day I want to be taken out and shot.' It seems to me the world is in a strange place where everyone chooses to be offended all the time. 'But not too much in the way of brains,' GlennBranson chipped in. 'Would have needed the old Specialist Search Unite to find any trace of them.' 'Ever heard of knocking on a door?' 'Dunno that film -- was it on Netflix?' 'One word, four letters. Begins with an S for Sierra, ends with a T for Tango. Or if you'd like the longest version, we've been one word, six letters, begins with F for Foxtrot, ends with D for Delta.' No Cop liked entering a prison. In general there was a deep cultural dislike of all police officers by the inmates. And every officer entering.a prison, for whatever purposes, was always aware that if a riot kicked off while they were there, they could be both an instant hostage and a prime target for violence.

Deprive a cat of sleep and it would die in two weeks. Deprive a human and he would become psychotic. His work was killing people. How was he supposed to frighten these guys? Run up behind them in a halloween mask and shout boo? He never saw the point of views -- what did it matter if it was an ocean or a brick wall you were looking at? People travelled hundreds, sometimes thousands of miles to commit suicide someplace with a beautiful view. Did a view matter when oblivion beckoned? They could put him in a garbage bin after he was gone, for all he cared. That's all the human race was anyway. Garbage with attitude. A cutting word is worse than a bowstring. A cut may heal but a cut of the tongue does not. The Sakawa students were all from poor, underprivileged backgrounds. Sakawa was a mix of religious juju and modern internet technology. They were taught, in structured classes, the art of online fraud as well as arcane African rituals -- which included animal sacrifice -- to have a voodoo effect on their victims, ensuring the success of each fraud. of which there was a wide variety. The British Empire spend five hundred years plundering the world. The word is 'thanks'. 'That's what it is, Roy! He won't come out, he has locked the doors! What if he self-harms, Roy! I mean -- what if he kills himself?' 'I will have to take him off my Christmas list.' "Any chance you can recover any of it?' 'You sitting near a window, Gerry?' 'Near a window? Sure, right by a window?' 'Can you see the sky?' 'Uh-huh. Got a clear view.' 'See any pigs flying past?' To dream of death is good for those in fear, for the death have no more fears. '...Cleo took me to the opera once. I spent the whole time praying for a fat lady to come on stage and start singing. Or a heart attack --whichever come sooner.' '..there is something strongly powerful -- almost magnetic -- about internet romances. A connection that is far stronger than a traditional meeting of two people. Maybe because on the internet you can lie all the time, each person gives the other their good side. It's intoxicating. That's one of the things which makes it so dangerous -- and such easy pickings for fraudsters.' He was more than a little pleased that he was about to ruin his boss's morning -- and, with a bit of luck, his entire day. ..a guy who had been born angry and had just got even angrier with each passing year. '...Then at some point in the future, I'll probably die in an overcrowded hospital corridor with some bloody hung-over medical student jumping up and down on my chest because they couldn't find a defibrillator. 'Give me your hand, bro,' the shorter one said. 'That one, the right one, yeah.' On the screen the MasterChef contestant said, 'Now with a sharp knife...' Jules de Copland drove away from Gatwick Airport in.a new car, a small Kia, hired under a different name and card, from a different rental firm, Avis. 'I was talking about her attitude. But I'll tell you this, Roy. The day I can't say a woman -- or a man -- is plug ugly, that's the day I want to be taken out and shot.' It seems to me the world is in a strange place where everyone chooses to be offended all the time. 'But not too much in the way of brains,' GlennBranson chipped in. 'Would have needed the old Specialist Search Unite to find any trace of them.' 'Ever heard of knocking on a door?' 'Dunno that film -- was it on Netflix?' 'One word, four letters. Begins with an S for Sierra, ends with a T for Tango. Or if you'd like the longest version, we've been one word, six letters, begins with F for Foxtrot, ends with D for Delta.' No Cop liked entering a prison. In general there was a deep cultural dislike of all police officers by the inmates. And every officer entering.a prison, for whatever purposes, was always aware that if a riot kicked off while they were there, they could be both an instant hostage and a prime target for violence.

Ah its fine. I don't mind." Hadrain sucked his breath in sharply. "Ooo, T. Have a care with that word. It always gives me chills." Talyn frowned. "What word?" "Fine. I hate it." "Seriously?" "Uh yeah. Are you out of your mind? I live with Jayne and two daughters. The most terrifying four-lettered-f-word a woman says in my house is 'fine.' I swear, every time I hear it, I cringe." Nero laughed. "Jayne? What have you done to my brother?" Kissing her cheek, Hadrain flashed a teasing grin. ";et me put it to you this way... God forbid anything should ever happen to her, but if it does I'm under orders to chain and lock her coffin shut during the middle of the funeral just to freak everyone out.

Mind Reading: Yeah, I’m talking to you. This is one that MANY of us are guilty of. Mind reading is very much what it sounds like. You assume that you know a person’s thoughts or internal motives, even though in reality you are just taking guesses.   Example: You text your significant other saying how much you love them and that you are really happy that things have been great lately. You ask them if they want to go to a movie later. I’m talking super cutesy with emojis and everything. Five minutes later, you get the response, “K.” That’s it, just… K. When you see your partner later you say, “So you don’t want to go to the movies?” You’re already pissed because you assume that they don’t care as much as you given their lackluster response. If they cared as much, they would have used an equivalent number of emojis… duh. In reality, they were just driving on the freeway and cared enough about you to not get killed by texting while driving.

After we broke up. You can say it. I won’t shatter, you know.’ We sit shoulder to shoulder on my bed, which seems as unbelievable as the subject we’re calmly discussing. ‘I know this might be difficult to hear, Reid, but I’m kind of over you.’ He smirks. ‘Yeah … when you went all Operation Graham last spring and deployed me to seduce Emma – I kinda figured that you were well over me.’ Graham again. I close my eyes and press my fingers to my chest. Damn. ‘Still upsets you, huh? I guess you really did love him. God, there’s no f**king way I’m ever taking Dori around that guy. Because seriously.’ His words are tongue-in-cheek, but the underlying tone is anything but.

She wobbled, steadying herself against the pale blue walls. “You’ve been going out alone?” “Yes.” He reached out for her arm, but she tore it away from him. “Beth—” She yanked open the door. “Don’t touch me.” The thing clapped shut behind her. Rage at himself had Wrath spinning toward his desk, and the instant he saw all the papers, all the requests, all the complaints, all the problems, it was like someone hooked jumper cables up to his shoulder blades and hit him with a charge. He shot forward, swept his arms across the top, and sent the shit flying everywhere. As papers fluttered down like snow, he took off his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes, a headache spearing into his frontal lobe. Robbed of breath, he stumbled around, finding his chair by feel and collapsing into the damn thing. With a ragged grunt, he let his head fall back. These stress headaches were becoming a daily occurrence lately, wiping him out and lingering like a flu that refused to be cured. Beth. His Beth… When he heard a knock, he gave the f-word a workout. The knock came again. “What,” he barked. Rhage put his head around the jamb, then froze. “Ah…” “What.” “Yeah, well…Ah, going by the door slamming—and, wow, the stiff wind that clearly just blew by your desk—do you still want to meet with us?” -Beth, Wrath, & Rhage

Hell, you knew she had baggage. Layers. You told me you wanted to find out everything about her. Find out why she doesn’t have a family. Find out why she’s all alone in New York. Find out why she’s living in Pete’s spare room until tomorrow.” I spin to face him. “She’s living with Pete and Reagan?” I didn’t know about that. “Why?” He shrugs. “She had to move out of the dorm after graduation. They had an empty room. But Reagan’s parents are coming to stay for two weeks, so she’s going somewhere else.” “Where?” I ask quickly. He shrugs. “Does it matter?” But he’s grinning. Fuck yeah, it matters. “Is she going to stay with one of the douchebags?” “What douchebags?” Matt scratches his head. “Never mind,” I say. Hope swells within me. I shouldn’t let it, but it does. I get out a piece of paper and write on it in magic marker: ROOM FOR RENT PRICE NEGOTIABLE ONLY BEAUTIFUL LITTLE BOMBSHELLS NEED APPLY PREFERABLY ONES NAMED FRIDAY I walk out of the back room and go to the bulletin board. I stick a thumbtack in the “advertisement” and walk away. I hear a snicker from behind me and turn to grin at Logan. You’re a d-o-o-f-u-s, he signs, fingerspelling the last word because there’s no sign for something so stupid. I know, I sign back. He looks a little worried for me, but I don’t care. I can’t get where I want to go if I don’t take a first step. Regardless of whether or not she’s pregnant, she needs a place to stay and I have two empty rooms. And she’s family, for Christ’s sake. I’ve never wanted to eat out a member of my family, though. I scratch my head. I should probably stop thinking like that. I whistle to myself as I walk to my office. I have some paperwork to do before my first appointment arrives. And I need to give Friday time to find my ad.

What’s so strange about him?” Rick asked, thinking about adding another weirdo into the mix. But what the hell, his weirdo had worked out. “Well, he’s funny looking. Tall and skinny with big ears and a long, hooked nose. And he thinks he was abducted by aliens.” Rick pulled back, holding Liz’s upper arms. His face was frozen in shock for a moment, then a huge laugh erupted from him. “You are fucking kidding me!” “Oh, I see how it is—you can use the F word whenever you want…” “Jerry Powell? Liz, that’s who I’ve been seeing!” “Come on,” she said, shaking her head. “Yeah,” he said, grinning. “That’s the nutcase that got me this far. Honest to God, sometimes I hate that psycho—but I have to admit, it’s helped, though I sure couldn’t tell you how.” He laughed again. “Yeah, I’ll see Mr. Spaceman with you. Can we merge our appointments so I don’t have to put up with him three or four times a week?” “I can’t believe he didn’t tell me,” she said, shaking her head. “Liz, it’s the rules. He doesn’t talk about patients.” He couldn’t stop laughing and it felt both strange and familiar at the same time. He used to be a laughing fool. Lately he’d found it hard to find humor in anything. “What a kick. Come on, Liz, I gotta get the truck back.” “The

Eventually, Edgard said, “She doesn’t know anything about me. Not even that we were roping partners. Not that we were…” He looked at Trevor expectantly. “No.” Trevor quickly glanced at the living room where Chassie was chattering away. “You surprised?” “Maybe that she isn’t aware of our official association as roping partners. There was no shame in that. We were damn good together, Trev.” The word shame echoed like a slap. As good as they were together, it’d never been enough, in an official capacity or behind closed doors. “What are you really doin’ here?” Edgard didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know. Feeling restless. Had the urge to travel.” “Wyoming ain’t exactly an exotic port of call.” “You think I don’t realize that? You think I wouldn’t rather be someplace else? But something…” Edgard lowered his voice. “Ah, f**k it.” “What?” “Want the truth? Or would you rather I lie?” “The truth.” “Truth between us? That’s refreshing.” Edgard’s gaze trapped his. “I’m here because of you.” Trevor’s heart alternately stopped and soared, even when his answer was an indiscernible growl. “For Christsake, Ed. What the hell am I supposed to say to that? With my wife in the next room?” “You’re making a big deal out of this. She thinks we’re friends, which ain’t a lie. We were partners before we were…” Edgard gestured distractedly. “If she gets the wrong idea, it won’t be from me.” “Maybe I’m gettin’ the wrong idea. The last thing you said to me when you f**kin’ left me was that you weren’t ever comin’ back. And you made it goddamn clear you didn’t want to be my friend. So why are you here?” Pause. He traced the rim of his coffee cup with a shaking fingertip. “I heard about you gettin’ married.” “That happened over a year ago and you came all the way from Brazil to congratulate me in person? Now?” “No.” Edgard didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. He raked his fingers through his hair. His voice was barely audible. “Will it piss you off if I admit I was curious about whether you’re really happy, meu amore?” My love. My ass. Trevor snapped, “Yes.” “Yes, you’re pissed off? Or yes, you’re happy?” “Both.” “Then this is gonna piss you off even more.” “What?” “Years and miles haven’t changed anything between us and you goddamn well know it.” Trevor looked up; Edgard’s golden eyes were laser beams slicing him open. “It don’t matter. If you can’t be my friend while you’re in my house, walk out the f**kin’ door. I will not allow either one of us to hurt my wife. Got it?” “Yeah.” “Good. And I’m done talkin’ about this shit so don’t bring it up again. Ever.

Dauna drew her lush breasts over Bernie’s cold blue lips. “Yeah. The f*cker’s dead all right." — Shark Fin Soup 2015

Yeah, a guy who can fit in women’s glove sizes. That’s different, alright.

I saw Gert. The time machine took me back to a few years ago, the Yorkes’ house… and there she was. On the phone, organizing a protest against… the usual.” “You talk to her?” “You nuts? She’s fourteen—what do I say? ‘Hey, in a few years you’re gonna find out your parents are evil time-traveling overlords and help kill them, fall in love with the dumbest guy you know and than eat it ‘cause he’s too slow to protect you?’” “You could’ve brought her back…” “Butterfly effect, remember? Yeah, I looked it up. ‘Sides she had a few good years left. Which is more than I can promise with us. I just hid. Watched her for a while.” “Was it hard?” “It was f#%&ing beautiful.

Never Let Me Down" (feat. Jay-Z, J-Ivy) [Intro:] Yeah Grandmama Told you I won't let you down Told you I won't let this rap game change me, right? [Chorus:] When it comes to being true, at least true to me One thing I found,one thing I found Oh no you'll neva let me down, Get up I get(down) Get up I get(down) Get up I get(down) Get up I get(down) Get up I get(down) Get up I get(down) [Jay-Z:] Yo, yo first I snatched the street then I snatched the charts, First had they ear now I hav they're heart, Rappers came and went, I've been hear from the start, Seen them put it together Watch them take it apart, See the Rovers roll up wit ribbons I've seen them re-poed, re-sold and re-driven So when I reload, he holds #1 position When u hot I'm hot And when your feet cold, mines is sizzelin It's plain to see Nigga's can't f*** wit me Cuz ima be that nigga fo life This is not an image This is God given This is hard liven Mixed wit crystal sipping It's the most consistent Hov Give you the most hits you can fit inside a whole disc and Nigga I'm home on these charts, y'all niggaz visitin It's Hov tradition, Jeff Gordan of rap I'm back to claim pole position, holla at ya boy [Chorus] [Kanye West:] I get down for my grandfather who took my momma Made her sit that seat where white folks ain't wanna us to eat At the tender age of 6 she was arrested for the sit in With that in my blood I was born to be different Now niggas can't make it to ballots to choose leadership But we can make it to Jacob and to the dealership That's why I hear new music And I just don't be feeling it Racism still alive they just be concealing it But I know they don't want me in the damn club They even made me show I.D to get inside of Sam's club I did dirt and went to church to get my hands scrubbed Swear I've been baptised at least 3 or 4 times But in the land where nigga's praise Yukons and getting paid It gon' take a lot more than coupons to get us saved Like it take a lot more than do-rags to get your waves Noting sadder than that day my girl father past away So I promised to Mr Rany I'm gonna marry your daughter And u know I gotta thank u for they way that she was brought up And I know that u were smiling when u see that car I bought her And u sent tears from heaven when u seen my car get balled up But I can't complaint what the accident did to my Left Eye Cuz look what a accident did to Left Eye First Aaliyah and now romeo must die I know a got angels watching me from the other side

Good. Now, I know we’re early, but we should head out soon. Don’t want to be late to our coming out party, now do we?” Coming out what? I choke on my wine. “Coming out party?” “Well, yeah. Most of our friends will be there with their wives and girlfriends. This will be the first time in a long time that I’ve taken someone,” he says nonchalantly, likes it’s an everyday f**king occurrence. I try to appear unaffected on the outside, but inside I’m freaking out.

According to Amy Goodman, Gates owns investments in sixty-nine of the world’s worst-polluting companies.203 His single-minded obsession with vaccines seems to serve his impulse to monetize his charity and to achieve monopoly control over global public health policy. His strategies and corporate alliances in the food, public health, and education sectors may also reflect messianic conviction that he is ordained to save the world with technology, top-down centralized cookie-cutter solutions to complex human problems, and a godlike willingness to experiment with the lives of lesser humans. And Gates’s vaccine cartel has amassed Midas-like riches. Early in 2021, a TV interviewer, Becky Quick, observed that Gates had spent $10 billion on vaccines over the past two decades and asked Gates, “You’ve figured out the return on investment for that and it kind of stunned me. Can you walk us through the math?” Gates responded: “We see a phenomenal track record . . . there’s been over a 20-to-1 return. So if you just looked at the economic benefits, that’s a pretty strong number.” The interviewer pressed him: “If you had put that money into an S&P 500 and reinvested the dividends, you’d come up with something like $17 billion dollars, but you think it’s $200 billion dollars.” Gates continued: “Here, yeah,” hastening to add that “helping young children live, get the right nutrition, contribute to their countries, that has a payback that goes beyond any typical financial return.”204 The key to it all, he added, is “Having that big portfolio.” And the key to much of that portfolio is having Anthony Fauci.

Without any set of stable morals, professors argue in favor of thugs and criminals. One professor played the “song” “Cop Killer” by that illustrious artist, Ice-T. To quote from the song: “I got my twelve gauge sawed off / I got my headlights turned off / I’m ’bout to bust some shots off / I’m ’bout to dust some cops off ! / Cop killer, it’s better you than me / Cop killer, f— police brutality / Cop killer, I know your family’s grieving (F— ’em) / Cop killer, but tonight we get even (ha, ha, ha, ha, yeah!).

I mean, yeah, it’s a little cheesy, but wouldn’t you rather be a little cheesy than crying and not sleeping and just feeling like shit all of the time?

Living in fear can take a toll on a person: fear of failing, fear of being a loser, fear of bad shit happening, and fear of being unloved. I’d lived with the F word all my life and, yeah, I’d gotten lucky with a few good friends who told me every day that I was worth it. But it doesn’t matter how many times someone else tells you these things. It doesn’t matter … not until you believe.

Uh, yeah, my help doesn’t come for free. I can take care of your Hunkyhair problem. But it’ll cost you.” “If you’re about to propose one of your ridiculous bets—” Sandor cut in. “Not a bet,” Ro assured him. “I’m talking about a straight bargain. Miss F gives me something, and I give her an obedient Keefster.” Keefe snort-laughed. “Good luck with that.” “See, but I don’t need luck. Because you still owe me a dare.” The color drained from Keefe’s face. “Thaaaaaaaaaaaat’s right, Hunkyhair! You lost our last bet—and what were the terms again? Oh, that’s right! If I won, I get to dare you to do anything I want, and you have to agree. So if I dare you to stay away from the Neverseen, guess who’s not allowed to go near the creepy cloaked dudes? And yes, that does include places they might

Oh, I know there are those of you who shake your head and clutch your Rosary Beads whenever I let slip yet another F-bomb -- all you prissy, judgemental little pussy farts who've led absolutely perfect lives ... never lied, cheated, coveted a close friend's new piece of ass, or wished ill upon another. Yeah! Im talkin' to YOU!!! You mealy-mouthed phoneys who are mortally offended by words ... WORDS!!! I once heard it said that to the physcian, nothing about the human body is dirty. I'm a writer. For me, there are no dirty words! To be sure, there are some truly ugly, venomous words. Words that still carry their baggage of hate and ignorance. Words that only serve to wound. But those are few in number and remain the exclusive property of the poisoned minds that birthed them. Those aren't the words I speak of. The great defense attorney, Clarence Darrow (one of my idols), was once reprimanded by a judge for using "salty" language. Darrow's response (and forgive my paraphrase) was to inform the judge that given that language is such a woefully inadequate instrument, he felt he should be allowed to use ALL the words. So, in the spirit of that immortal utterance, I'd just like to say, FUCK YOU!

Mind Reading: Yeah, I’m talking to you. This is one that MANY of us are guilty of. Mind reading is very much what it sounds like. You assume that you know a person’s thoughts or internal motives, even though in reality you are just taking guesses.

Yeah, I’m a geek, I knew what all that stuff was. When you’re out on a long deployment you play games to pass the time, and one of my favorites was old school Dungeons and Dragons. Geek I’ll take, call me a nerd and I’ll kill you with my pinky. Delta Force, yo.

Yeah… which reminds me… I wanted to ask you if—” “I’m in,” Bob said immediately with a smile on his face. “But you didn’t even hear what I was gonna ask you yet.” “You were going to ask me to go to the mines with you, right?” “Well, actually, I was gonna ask to borrow four thousand emeralds.” Bob spluttered out a huge amount of air at the large number. “F-four thousand… e-emeralds…? What do you need four thousand emeralds for? I’m sorry, I don’t have that kind of emeralds lying around.” I laughed. “I’m just joking. Yeah, I was gonna ask you to join me on this trip to the mines.” Bob wiped his forehead. “Whew… for a moment, I thought you were serious.” “Nah, what would I need four thousand emeralds for?

Yeah, right, so much choice there. Her mood wasn’t helped by the fact she hadn’t got laid this visit. Again: choices.

Disgraced journalist Fergus Robertson.” “Notorious alcoholic Fergus Robertson.” “Domestic abuser F—” I never laid a finger on my ex,’ added Robertson, a little defensively. ‘So, yeah: if you get anything provable, I’ll fucking print it and they’ll rue the fucking day they went after me.

Have you seen those kids nowadays? What they’re like? They’re f****** nightmares. And you do feel like strangling them. At times. They scream like banshees or maniacs. They’re mini sociopaths in the making. It should be illegal to scream like they do. It’s criminal. They should be arrested or silenced with———————. Yeah, whatever. While you wonder why the f*** they’re screaming like crazy, their mom shows up and tell you that they actually sh** their pants. Sorry. ‘Diapers.’ They sh** their ‘diapers’. So, take a hint. And turns out that all along, they were hungry, thirsty for coconut water. Or is it milk? Oh that’s right, ‘nuts.’ Babies are pros at juggling nuts while having colic nanoseconds ago. Either way, they’re diminutive unruly monsters whose terrorizing skills should not be underestimated.

Have you seen those kids nowadays? What they’re like? They’re f****** nightmares. And you do feel like strangling them. At times. They scream like banshees or maniacs. They’re mini sociopaths in the making. It should be illegal to scream like they do. It’s criminal. They should be arrested or silenced with———————. Yeah, whatever. While you wonder why the f*** they’re screaming like crazy, their mom shows up and tell you that they actually sh** their pants. Sorry. ‘Diapers.’ They sh** their ‘diapers’. So, take a hint. And turns out that all along, they were hungry, thirsty for coconut water. Or is it milk? Oh that’s right, ‘nuts.’ Babies are pros at juggling nuts while having colic nanoseconds ago. Either way, they’re diminutive unruly monsters whose terrorizing skills should not be underestimated.

Have you seen those kids nowadays? What they’re like? They’re f****** nightmares. And you do feel like strangling them. At times. They scream like banshees or maniacs. They’re mini sociopaths in the making. It should be illegal to scream like they do. It’s criminal. They should be arrested or silenced with———————. Yeah, whatever. While you wonder why the f*** they’re screaming like crazy, their mom shows up and tell you that they actually sh** their pants. Sorry. ‘Diapers.’ They sh** their ‘diapers’. So, take a hint. And turns out that all along, they were hungry, thirsty for coconut water. Or is it milk? Oh that’s right, ‘nuts.’ Babies are pros at juggling nuts while having colic nanoseconds ago. Either way, they’re diminutive unruly monsters whose terrorizing skills should not be underestimated.

We should get you some ice." "F*ck you. If I did half my job, you'll be stuffing you jock with every piece of cold thing we have." "Yeah, but you can have it when I'm done though." She managed another bloody smile and turned towards the door. "Hey Babs, no hard feelings right?" "Just next time you need to beat someone up, how about you don't insult me first." He chuckled. It hurt. "If I need to beat someone up, I got a whole station of possibilities. But if I'm looking to lose a fight, I'm pretty much down to just you.

The Pure. It was all a fairy tale, something to give people hope. Real hope. Without it, they mightn't have held out for so long. They might've stopped fighting altogether. Yeah, just a fairy tale. There were no such things as angels, but the demons were very real.

RUSSIAN NESTING DOLLS Have you ever seen these things? They’re these little egg-shaped, hand-painted, wooden dolls that split in half to reveal a smaller doll inside, and another inside that, all the way down to an adorable, itty-bitty little doll nugget. Yeah, so . . . that’s your brain.

My ex-husband kept saying I need an anger management course, but that’s bullshit.” “Really.” “Yeah, ‘really.’ I just need a world with fewer people who piss me off.

G: Did you ever go through a period of trying to imitate boys? F: When I thought it was wrong to be a lesbian, what I did then was really go over into trying to cut off all of my male behavior, to the point of shaving my arms! I thought that anybody who looked at my arms would know immediately that I had hair on them and that was a sure sign of lesbianism! So I went the other way really. I didn’t go into the male role. I went into trying to hide it from everybody else until I figured it out. G: So you figured it out? F: Yeah, it was like a secret that I didn’t want anybody else to know until I was able to handle the situation and cope with my feelings about it. And during that period, I changed into being-- into acting the female role. During that time I would just go off by myself for long periods of time. And this happened for several years. G: When did you really feel that you were strong enough to openly be what you were? F: That went on until Jeanne happened. And then I had it all together. Jeanne was all I needed to know it was right. And then I had thought it all out, all the angles of it. Enough to hit anybody who went against it. G: How old were you when that happened? F: Twenty.