Gator Quotes

Later, gator." "In an hour, sunflower.

Woo!" Emmett suddenly boomed in his deep bass. "Go Gators!" Jacob and Charlie jumped. The rest of us froze. Charlie recovered, then looked at Emmett over his shoulder. "Florida winning?" "Just scored the first touchdown," Emmett confirmed. He shot a look in my direction, wagging his eyebrows like a villain in vaudville. "'Bout time somebody scored around here.

There is no explaining this simple truth about life: you will forget much of it. The painful things you were certain you’d never be able to let go? Now you’re not entirely sure when they happened, while the thrilling parts, the heart-stopping joys, splintered and scattered and became something else. Memories are then replaced by different joys and larger sorrows, and unbelievably, those things get knocked aside as well, until one morning you’re picking cherries with your three grown daughters and your husband goes by on the Gator and you are positive that this is all you’ve ever wanted in the world.

Why do I have to do this?" Gator demanded. Cuz you're such a pretty boy. Our photographer isn't going to fall for one of us as the tied up model," Nico pointed out. Dumbest plan you've ever come up with," Gator rumbled. "Offering myself all trussed up like a Christmas turkey to a serial killer who likes to torture people isn't too smart.

Would you leave me alone, you walking pair of boots! Let go of my easel, you refugee from a luggage factory. If you need some wood for a toothpick, there’s a bunch of it on the porch. (Sunshine) Beth. What are you doing?...She says she was forcing you inside before it got dark and something decided to eat you. (Talon) Tell Swamp Breath I was headed this way. Why was she…Oh jeez, am I really have a conversation with a gator? (Sunshine)

Look forward to the wonderment of growing up, raising a family and driving by the gas station where the popular kids now work.

I don't suppose you cook?" Tucker inquired hopefully. "Did you think because she can start fires she'd be great with a grill? Gator asked.

You always say the best leaders figure out how to turn a bad situation to their advantage. When life gives you gators, make Gatorade

Always walk away from a fight. Then ambush.

Come on, bebe. Let’s play gator.

It’s easier to kill a man than a gator, but it takes the same kind of wait. You got to watch for the weakness, and take your shot to the back of the head.

That be the jealousy talking," Gator said, in no way perturbed. "I can't help the way the women love me. I was born with the gift." The men hooted and made rude noises. "You were born with a gift of bullshitting." Sam pointed out, "but that's about it." He looked at Dahlia. "Pardon me, ma'am, but its the truth." "I rather thought it was," she agreed.

Ah, dude," Paul said. "What if they beam around like in Star Trek?" Sofia snorted. "I'll be sure to ask Dark Gator if I see him." Paul burst out laughing; Tick held hid laugh in pressing his mouth closed. What?" Sofia asked. What did you call him?" Paul asked. Dark Gator." Man, oh, man, you are too good to be true Miss Italy, too good to be true." Still chuckling, he walked towards all the people. "I think I see a restaurant up there. Let's check it out. Sofia looked at Tick, her eyebrows raised. It's Darth Vader," he whispered. "And he's from Star Wars, not Star Trek.

Youever insult Bride again, I swear I'll rip your throat out and feed you to the gators in the swamp. You understand me?" - Vane

You familiar with prison rules, Ali-gator?" Stupid nicknames. They were the equivalent of verbal fungus. You couldn't ever get rid of them.

Hey, my brother," Eli said, sounding friendly and casual. "Let's chat about this first, before I hafta kill you and then figure out where to bury the body. Though I'm thinking out in a bayou, somewhere close to gators, you dig?

There are gators, thousands of them. " said Rashawn. " Then we better get out of here before we end up as a feast for gators." said Nicole. " What are going to do with him?" looking at the dead driver. " Let's get out of here and let him be the feast

Don't make fun of people who are different. Unless they have more money and influence. Then you must

Oh, I like her. You deserve her, buddy. I'm looking forward to watching how this plays out. You in a relationship? That's like one of those shows about guys who wrestle with wild gators. I don't know how it's going to turn out, but it will be bloody, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to laugh.

Some asshole scraped the 'I' out of INVESTIGATOR with their keys six months ago. I simply can’t be bothered to fix that one. For all the work I get, I may as well be an 'invest gator

in these situations, you followed the rules first. You toed the line. You made sure to cross every t and dot every i. And when that didn’t work, it was time to bring out the goddamned gators.

It was bad enough for white people, but when one of your own color could be so different it put you on a wonder. It was like seeing your sister turn into a ’gator. A familiar strangeness. You keep seeing your sister in the ’gator and the ’gator in your sister, and you’d rather not.

My dad mumbled something unintelligible. "Woo!" Emmett suddenly boomed in his deep bass. "Go Gators!" Jacob and Charlie jumped. The rest of us froze. Charlie recovered, then looked at Emmett over his shoulder. "Florida winning?" "Just scored the first touchdown," Emmett confirmed. He shot a look in my direction, wagging his eyebrows like a villain in vaudeville. "'Bout time somebody scored around here.

Suddenly gator was framed in the doorway, grinning at them, his black unruly hair tumbling into his face and his piercing blue eyes bright with laughter. "Oh, I see you are most friendly with each other. And Lily was so worried." He turned his head. "Ian Tucker, come look at this. Our man has found himself a little kitty cat." "Shut up, Gator, or I'm going to shoot you." Nicholas put the gun away and looked down at dahlia. She had the covers pulled up to her chin. Here eyes were enormous and getting bigger by the moment as more Ghost Walkers crowded into the doorway to gape at the sight of Nicholas, the loner, in bed with Dahlia. "And you said he didn't know what to do with a woman," Tucker Addison accused the tallest of the group, Ian McGillicuddy. "I stand corrected." Ian gave Nicholas a small salute. Dahlia made a small distressed squeak. Nicholas picked up the gun. "I'm going to start shooting if the lot of you don't get out and close the door." "What a poor sport," Gator groused. "And this is my house.

What?” Richardson snarled. “No smart retort, Mr. Gautier? Cat swallow your tongue?” Nick gave her a charming grin he didn’t really feel. “No, ma’am. A gator named Sense Formerly Known as Common.” Sneering at him, she tottered her way to her desk so that she could insult someone else and ruin their day. Caleb let out an annoyed breath. -Great,- he projected to Nick. -Now I have to get detention, too. I really hate you, Gautier.- Nick batted his eyelashes at Caleb. -But I wubs you, Caliboo.- That succeeded in wringing a groan out of Caleb. “What was that, Mr. Malphas?” Richardson asked. “Severe intestinal woe caused by an external hemorrhoid that seems to be growing on my right-hand side.” He cast a meaningful glower toward Nick. The class erupted into laughter as Richardson shot to her feet. “Enough!” She slammed her hands on her desk. “For that, Mr. Malphas, you can join Mr. Gautier in after-school detention.” Caleb let out an irritated sigh. --More quality time with my hemorrhoid. Just what I wanted for Christmas. Yippee ki-yay.--

What are we going to do with the body?" She had visions of dragging it into the swamp, whispering, "Here, gator, gator," and she made a little sound of distress at the thought.

Hang on to your dreams with everything you got. Because the best life is when your dreams come true. The second-best is when they don't but you never stop chasing them.

Sex is like math. add the bed, subtract the clothes, divide your legs, and hope you don't multiply." Yannie-gator46

hair; had taught her birdsongs, star names, how to steer the boat through saw grass. “Ma’ll be back,” he said. “I dunno. She’s wearin’ her gator shoes.” “A ma don’t leave her kids. It ain’t in ’em.

Yes, there was music after all. The sound of the swamp rose up to him. The sound of frogs and crickets, of birds and 'gators, of life in every puddle and pond and knothole and leaf." I Travel By Night

The painful things you were certain you’d never be able to let go? Now you’re not entirely sure when they happened, while the thrilling parts, the heart-stopping joys, splintered and scattered and became something else. Memories are then replaced by different joys and larger sorrows, and unbelievably, those things get knocked aside as well, until one morning you’re picking cherries with your three grown daughters and your husband goes by on the Gator and you are positive that this is all you’ve ever wanted in the world.

Your name is Jake and you’re real” [...] “Your name is Mia and you’re mine

Love is a blue balloon that wants to be orange. Go Gators!

You could step on a gator and the next thing you know is ouch.

Cynicism is overrated, and far too easy. In small doses, cynicism--like irony--provides an essential tempering quality. But to wallow in it, and to dismiss things like hope and faith, is cowardly and unoriginal.

I get naming your sports team gators, but ducks? Ducks are toothless, and they fight like pillows—all feathers and no punch—so what’s the point of them as your mascot, trying to make your opponent go to sleep on you?

Assuming we know everything robs the world of wonder.

I'm getting a diamond-hard boner just thinking about it.

I like the ocean,” [...] “It feels like forever and I can breathe. When I’m near the ocean, I’m free of the swamp in a way no other place allows.

Oh, I like her. You deserve her, buddy. I'm looking forward to watching how this plays out. You in a relationship? That's like one of those shows abut guys who wrestle with wild gators. I don't know how it's going to turn out, but it will be bloody, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to laugh.

Marcel was from Louisiana, so for four years Emily had been southern by association. She insisted on Lynchburg Lemonades. She scheduled interviews around the Gators. She championed gentility. Anyone at a dinner party who thought they could tell a joke making fun of the region encountered a faceful of Emily, quick and ferocious as a convert, as a woman who loved a man. Emily now had no claim to the South. The region and its interests would proceed without her.

Ricky Lee’s father had once told him that if a man was in his right mind, you brought him what he paid for, be it piss or poison. Ricky Lee didn’t know if that was good advice or bad, but he knew that if you tended bar for a living, it went a fair piece toward saving you from being chomped into gator-bait by your own conscience.

The duke’s house was a three-story affair with gilded pillars and marble facing, and it was as ugly as a gator in a pink satin ball gown.

You can't walk the last hundred yards, too marshy-mushy. Not that you'd want to. Gator country. Snap, Snap.

Jeremiah had said Dead End was like New York, but with fewer naked cowboys. I'd responded that New York was like Dead End, but with fewer gator wranglers.

Gator was too small to fight the soldier off alone and lost his balance. The soldier stabbed him in the stomach and Gator fell to the ground.

Gator laughed. “My mate thinks me the most perfect specimen of manhood.

You pull on dat ’gator’s tail, he gonna clean your kneecaps, him.

Ricky Lee didn’t know if that was good advice or bad, but he knew that if you tended bar for a living, it went a fair piece toward saving you from being chomped into gator-bait by your own conscience.

He was hard as hell too, because he couldn’t stop picturing Tommy calmly rolling that gator, like it was nothing. His shirtless chest as he dragged the thing outside and shot it wasn’t a bad image either. It

Makes me wonder if God's even up there at all. And if he is, why ain't he doing a better job of things down here. Unless maybe he's doing the best he can. And if that's the case, he ain't doing no better than the rest of us.

The American alligator has a much broader snout than the crocodile, and is less vicious and active. The two reptiles are about equal in size and can grow up to twelve feet in length, but the croc weighs about a third less than the ’gator.

Want me to roll you?” Tom asked. “Not funny.” But Prophet was rock hard. Tom stalking over to him and crowding him wasn’t helping. “You still have that duct tape?” “Yeah. Why?” “Come on, bebe. Let’s play gator.” Prophet hated the way his body responded yes—eagerly—to that question. “Think you wanna. ’M’I wrong?” Tom’s drawl was thick as hell, went right down Prophet’s spine, as the man’s hand snaked around Prophet’s waist and pushed his own hard cock against Prophet’s cargo pant-clad one. “Yes.

Gators are just something you have to accept where I come from. Most don't go anywhere near the houses, even though there are lots of delicious children and dogs there. Every once in a while, though, an alligator has a lightbulb moment and decides to take a stroll and see the world a bit.

Kya knew her mother would return with meat wrapped in greasy brown paper or with a chicken, head dangling down. But she never wore the gator heels, never took a case. Ma always looked back where the foot lane met the road, one arm held high, white palm waving, as she turned onto the track,

Memories are then replaced by different joys and larger sorrows, and unbelievably, those things get knocked aside as well, until one morning you’re picking cherries with your three grown daughters and your husband goes by on the Gator and you are positive that this is all you’ve ever wanted in the world.

Gator, go wake that woman of yours. I need some answers. We need her to run the computers for us.” “Tonight, Boss?” Gator complained. “I had other ideas.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “We all did. Hop to it.” “What about Sam?” Tucker asked. “His woman is the one who got us into this.” “I’m wounded.” Sam clutched his abdomen dramatically and staggered with quick, long strides so that he made it to the doorway in three quick steps. Jonas coughed, sounding suspiciously like he’d muttered “bullshit” under his breath. Kyle threw a peanut at him and Jeff surfed across the table in his bare socks to try to catch him before he bolted. “He’s in love, boys, let him go. He’ll probably just get laughed at,” Tucker said. “Do you really think Azami’s brothers are going to allow her to hook up with Sam? She’s fine and he’s . . . well . . . klutzy.” “That hurt,” Sam said, turning back. “Did you get a good look at those boys? I thought Japanese men were supposed to be on the short side, but Daiki was tall and all muscle. His brother moves like a fucking fighter,” Tucker added. “They might just decide to give you a good beating for having the audacity to even think you could date their sister, let alone marry her.” “Fat help you are,” Sam accused. “I could use a little confidence here.” Kyle snorted. “You don’t have a chance, buddy.” “Goin’ to meet your maker,” Gator added solemnly. Jeff crossed himself as he hung five toes off the edge of the table. “Sorry, old son, you don’t have a prayer. You’re about to meet up with a couple of hungry sharks.” “Have you ever actually used a sword before?” Kadan asked, all innocent. Jonas drew his knife and began to sharpen it. “Funny thing about blade men, they always like to go for the throat.” He grinned up at Sam. “Just a little tip. Keep your chin down.” “You’re all a big help,” Sam said and stepped out into the hall. This was the biggest moment of his life. If they turned him down, he was lost.

—so much more opportunity now." Her voice trails off. "Hurrah for women's lib, eh?" "The lib?" Impatiently she leans forward and tugs the serape straight. "Oh, that's doomed." The apocalyptic word jars my attention. "What do you mean, doomed?" She glances at me as if I weren't hanging straight either and says vaguely, "Oh …" "Come on, why doomed? Didn't they get that equal rights bill?" Long hesitation. When she speaks again her voice is different. "Women have no rights, Don, except what men allow us. Men are more aggressive and powerful, and they run the world. When the next real crisis upsets them, our so-called rights will vanish like—like that smoke. We'll be back where we always were: property. And whatever has gone wrong will be blamed on our freedom, like the fall of Rome was. You'll see." Now all this is delivered in a gray tone of total conviction. The last time I heard that tone, the speaker was explaining why he had to keep his file drawers full of dead pigeons. "Oh, come on. You and your friends are the backbone of the system; if you quit, the country would come to a screeching halt before lunch." No answering smile. "That's fantasy." Her voice is still quiet. "Women don't work that way. We're a—a toothless world." She looks around as if she wanted to stop talking. "What women do is survive. We live by ones and twos in the chinks of your world-machine." "Sounds like a guerrilla operation." I'm not really joking, here in the 'gator den. In fact, I'm wondering if I spent too much thought on mahogany logs. "Guerrillas have something to hope for." Suddenly she switches on a jolly smile. "Think of us as opossums, Don. Did you know there are opossums living all over? Even in New York City." I smile back with my neck prickling. I thought I was the paranoid one. "Men and women aren't different species, Ruth. Women do everything men do." "Do they?" Our eyes meet, but she seems to be seeing ghosts between us in the rain. She mutters something that could be "My Lai" and looks away. "All the endless wars …" Her voice is a whisper. "All the huge authoritarian organizations for doing unreal things. Men live to struggle against each other; we're just part of the battlefield. It'll never change unless you change the whole world. I dream sometimes of—of going away—" She checks and abruptly changes voice. "Forgive me, Don, it's so stupid saying all this." "Men hate wars too, Ruth," I say as gently as I can. "I know." She shrugs and climbs to her feet. "But that's your problem, isn't it?" End of communication. Mrs. Ruth Parsons isn't even living in the same world with me.

Gator lifted the needle and dabbed at the decorated flesh, frowning. The cases on the Mimosa generally had terrible skin, but they were docile enough to make a good filing system, considering you could usually find them where you left them – they didn’t move around much on their own, and unlike other kinds of hardcopy, they seldom got stolen.

If I were there, I’d turn the fire department hose on the entire street, which was probably why it was a good thing that I didn’t work with the general public.

I swear before God... and four more white people! This is the last time!

But here "sense" was just another made-up rule that reality didn't have to follow.

Every story worth telling orbits around a core of grief. Because what are stories if not memories made into myths?

A hint of red there and a dose of heat to sear the skin—mmm, barbecue. Not funny, you sick bastard. As Wes rebuked his inner gator, he slapped himself, only to hear a voice he never thought to hear again after last night. “You’re slapping the wrong part of your body. Why don’t you stand up and I’ll help you get the right spot?” Melanie. What is she doing here?

Gertie hit the brakes and tried to stop, but she tripped over a lip in the sidewalk and went sprawling right into the burro, then hit the pavement, her tutu skirt flipped up over her back, exposing her camouflage underwear. Tiny swung his head around to see what all the racket was and launched off the car door, setting off down the sidewalk toward the burro-Gertie wreck at high speed.

But sometimes, and don't you forget this, boy, you can get fooled, there's more gators lying around than you figured on. You can get yourself trapped, like in one of them box canyons. Most of the time you've got to turn around, fight your way out. But sometimes, boy, you get lucky. You find a crack just big enough to slip through, you're out the other side. That's where I am, boy, I'm out the other side.

The Gator doesn’t take requests. You can’t reason yourself into falling in love, despising ice cream, or enjoying parsnips (which are clearly odious). It’s possible to override gut reactions, but it’s not easy. When disgust researcher Paul Rozin asked adults to eat a piece of chocolate shaped like dog doo, 40 percent couldn’t do it. (Toddlers, however, had no Gator conflict and happily ate poo-shaped food.)

The lead actors in the drama: owner George Steinbrenner, who fought and fired his manager, Billy Martin, after Billy told the press that Reggie Jackson and George deserved each other—“one’s a born liar, the other’s convicted.

Something dropped from above the door onto the nurse, something lunged at her from the floor, and amidst the screaming—lots of it comparing the twins to satanic imps escaped from hell—Melanie laughed. “There’s my good boys. Come see Mama.

In South Texas I saw three interesting things. The first was a tiny girl, maybe ten years old, driving in a 1965 Cadillac. She wasn't going very fast, because I passed her, but still she was cruising right along, with her head tilted back and her mouth open and her little hands gripping the wheel. Then I saw an old man walking up the median strip pulling a wooden cross behind him. It was mounted on something like a golf cart with two spoked wheels. I slowed down to read the hand-lettered sign on his chest. JACKSONVILLE FLA OR BUST I had never been to Jacksonville but I knew it was the home of the Gator Bowl and I had heard it was a boom town, taking in an entire county or some such thing. It seemed an odd destination for a religious pilgrim. Penance maybe for some terrible sin, or some bargain he had worked out with God, or maybe just a crazed hiker. I waved and called out to him, wishing him luck, but he was intent on his marching and had no time for idle greetings. His step was brisk and I was convinced he wouldn't bust. The third interesting thing was a convoy of stake-bed trucks all piled high with loose watermelons and cantaloupes. I was amazed. I couldn't believe that the bottom ones weren't crushed under all that weight, exploding and spraying hazardous melon juice onto the highway. One of nature's tricks with curved surfaces. Topology! I had never made it that far in mathematics and engineering studies, and I knew now that I never would, just as I knew that I would never be a navy pilot or a Treasury agent. I made a B in Statics but I was failing in Dynamics when I withdrew from the field. The course I liked best was one called Strength of Materials. Everybody else hated it because of all the tables we had to memorize but I loved it, the sheared beam. I had once tried to explain to Dupree how things fell apart from being pulled and compressed and twisted and bent and sheared but he wouldn't listen. Whenever that kind of thing came up, he would always say - boast, the way those people do - that he had no head for figures and couldn't do things with his hands, slyly suggesting the presence of finer qualities.

Jasper would have been completely hidden if it weren't for Highway 17, the crumbling two-lane road that traced the coastline, splitting cypress swamps and tidal creeks edging right up to the 350,000-acre ACE Basin, where three rivers converged to form the largest, wildest estuarine preserve on the East Coast. Jasper bordered the northeast side of the basin where dolphins, gators, minks, otters, and every manner of waterfowl and shore bird prospered from the daily six-foot inflow and outflow of saltwater, freshwater, and brackish water that rose and fell on cue like the sun itself.

I should, seeing as how I’m hungry, annoyed, and your antics are reminding me why being a vegetarian is overrated.” “Your kind don’t eat humans.” Despite her claim, the nurse pulled at the iron grip Wes had on her wrist. “My kind eats whatever the fuck it wants, and we know how to not leave a trace behind. So, human”—amazing

Superstition, as indigenous to Louisiana as gators and Tabasco, holds that the spirits of the dead avenge any disruption of their bodies, which makes one wonder at the rancor released on the 1957 day when fifty-five white families re-interred their beloved in Hope Mausoleum after the Rt. Rev. Girault M. Jones, Bishop of Louisiana, deconsecrated the Girod Street Cemetery, condemning every last African American bone to anonymity in a mass grave in Providence Memorial Park. From that pogrom grew the Superdome. Thirteen acres of structural steel framing stretch up to 273 feet from the unholy ground, a towering testament to the American propensity to cheer black men into the end zones and desert them entirely six points later.

He said many people believe in God only because of the selfish reward of eternal life …” Another blew his nose. “So in order for our faith to be pure, we have to stop believing in God.” “What!” “Only temporarily—just long enough to imagine eternal darkness …” “… Then, once we could handle that, we were free to return and believe selflessly.” “… My belief’s never been stronger.

My hands were shaking and I thought it was from the cold so I dug through my bag to find my mittens. A spectacular orange light reflected off the windows of the building in front of me that made the glass look like beaten sheets of copper. A man in coveralls was raking leaves while another man bagged them up and put them on the back of a John Deere Gator nearby. I wanted to go and open up every bag and dump them out because didn’t they know the leaves were the nice part? I stood there, taking in the sharp air and waiting until the feeling passed so I could walk by them without speaking. Another man sat on a park bench on the other side of the open lawn and watched me watch them. Maybe he had special privileges. Then he stood and I remember thinking how tall he was.

Stop strokin’ that gun, Kyle,” Gator said. “You’re makin’ me nervous. I’m thinkin’ you’re about to make love to the damn thing.” “She is purty,” Kyle said, giving the gun one last caress, his eye watching the truck ahead. “Slow down a little, and let them get ahead of us, Gator.” “What if they put up a roadblock?” Jonas asked. Ryland opened one eye. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Can the chatter and let me sleep. We’ve got swimming to do and I’m getting too old for this shit.” “Do they have sharks off this coast?” Jonas asked. Sam snickered. “You and those sharks, Jonas.” “I have nightmares, man,” Jonas protested. “I’ll feed you to a damn shark if you don’t let me sleep,” Ryland drawled. Kadan and Nico exchanged amused glances. Ryland opened both eyes. “I heard that. I’m not that old.

You can’t be in here.” Ian stated it as a fact. Sam sank back onto the bed. He was definitely growing stronger, but standing could be troublesome on shaky legs. The pain of his wound had definitely receded. “Why not?” he asked a little belligerently. “She can’t; it’s impossible. I was standing guard at her door.” Ian’s gaze met Azami’s. “To protect you of course.” “Of course, because there are so many enemies creeping around your halls,” Azami said, her voice soft and pleasant, a musical quality lending innocence and sweetness. Ian’s frown deepened as if he was puzzled. She certainly couldn’t have meant that the way it came out, anyone listening would be certain of it. “Just what are you two doing in here anyway?” he asked, suspicion lending his tone a dark melodrama. He even wiggled his eyebrows like a villain. Sam kept a straight face with difficulty. Ian was a large man with red hair and freckles. He didn’t look in the least bit mean or threatening, even when he tried. “Azami was just telling me how when she left her room to inquire after my health, there was a giant man with carroty hair snoring in the hallway beside her door.” “There was no way to get past me,” Ian insisted. Sam grinned at him. “Are you saying you did fall asleep on the job, then?” “Hell no.” Ian scowled at him. “I was wide awake and she didn’t slap past me.” “You say,” Sam pointed out, his tone mocking as he folded his arms across his chest and leaned back casually, pleased he could tease his friend. “Still, she’s here and that proves you were looking the other way or sleeping, just like that time in Indonesia when we parachuted in and you fell asleep on the way down. I believe that time you got tangled in a very large tree right in the center of the enemies’ camp.” Azami’s lashes fluttered, drawing Sam’s attention. He almost reached out to her, wanting to hold her hand, but she’d mentioned a couple of times she didn’t show affection in public. “You fell asleep while parachuting?” she asked, clearly uncertain whether or not they were joking. Ian shook his head. “I did not. A gust of heavy wind came along and pushed me right into that tree. Gator told everyone I was snoring when he shoved me out of the plane. The entire episode is all vicious fabrication. On the other hand, Sam here, actually did fall asleep while he was driving as we were escaping a very angry drug lord in Brazil.” Azami raised her eyebrow as she turned to Sam for an explanation. Her eyes laughed at him and again he had a wild urge to pull her to him and hold her tight. Primitive urges had never been a part of his makeup until she’d come along; now he figured he was becoming a caveman. Her gaze slid to his face as if she knew what he was thinking—which was probably the case. He flashed a grin at her.

I do trust you though. I think if someone tried to take me, you’d at least fight them for me a little…” I watched his face for a moment before narrowing my eyes. “Wouldn’t you?” That had his other eye popping open, his cheeks still slightly pink, but everything else about him completely alert. “You know I would.” Why that pleased me so much, I wasn’t going to overanalyze. “If someone tried to take you, I know aikido, some jiu-jitsu, and kickboxing,” I offered him up. “But my dentist says I have really strong teeth, so I’d be better off trying to bite someone’s finger or ear off instead.” Aaron’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead almost comically. “Like a little Chihuahua,” he suggested, the spoon going into his mouth with a sly grin. I winked at him, immediately regretting it. I didn’t want it to come across like I was flirting. “I was thinking more of a piranha. I’ve only had one filling in my entire life,” I told him, wishing each word coming out of my mouth wasn’t coming out of it. If he thought I was being awkward or a flirt, he didn’t make it known. “Or a raptor.” “A lion.” “A tiger.” “Did you know a jaguar has twice the strength in its bite than a tiger does?” Aaron frowned as he took another bite of his oatmeal. “No shit?” “No. Two thousand pounds per square inch. They’re the only big cat that kills their prey by biting its head, through bone and everything. A tiger bites the neck of whatever animal they’re eating to cut their air and blood flow off. Crazy, huh?” He looked impressed. “I had no idea.” I nodded. “Not a lot of people do.” “Is there anything that bites harder than they do?” “Crocodiles. The really big ones. I’m pretty sure they have about 4000 or 5000 psi bites.” For the fifty-second time, I shrugged. “I like watching the Animal Channel and Discovery,” I said, making it sound like an apology. Aaron gave me that soft smile that made me feel like my insides were on fire. Then he winked. “I don’t know much about crocodiles, but I know all about alligators,” he offered. “Did you know there are only two species left in the world?” “There are?” “American alligator and the Asian alligator. More than a fifth of all of them live in Florida.” “We have some gators in Texas. There’s a state park by Houston where you can go and you can usually see a bunch. I went camping there one time.” One corner of his mouth tilted up as he chewed. “Look at you, Rebel Without a Cause.” With anyone else, I’d probably think they were picking on me, but I could see the affection on Aaron’s face. I could feel the kindness that just came off him in waves, so I winked back at him. “I live life on the edge. I should start teaching a class on how to be bad.” “Right? Quitting your job, coming to Florida even though you were worried….” He trailed off with a grin and a look out of the corner of his eye. “I pretty much have my masters and license to practice. I’ll teach people everything I know.

Debriefing was a lot of bullshit. Sam wanted to leap out of his seat and go find his woman. He’d never actually had a woman to come home to, and now that he did, he had to sit like a kindergartener, wiggling around his chair, anxious to see her—inspect her—and make certain she didn’t have so much as a scratch on her. Fucking Whitney, attacking the compound when there were just a few men and women to defend it. She wasn’t hurt . . . “Sam, you with us?” Ryland asked. He wasn’t the only one with a wife. Ryland had to be just as anxious. His son had been a target. He scowled at Ryland. “He’s got ants in his pants.” Tucker snickered. He’s got somethin’ in his pants,” Gator mocked, shoving at Sam’s boot with his foot. “And I don’ think it’s ants.” “Go to hell,” Sam said good-naturedly. “Like all of you aren’t just as antsy.” Ryland sighed. “Our women fought off Whitney’s men while we were in the field. It’s getting a little old.” He looked at Sam. “Get out of here.” And I want a full briefing from her later. Sam’s nod was barely perceptible. He leapt out of the chair and rushed from the room, an arrow shot out of a bow. Laughter followed him, but he didn’t give a damn. Nothing mattered but to get to her. Azami. His.

When inanimate things ceased to commune with me like natural men, other dreams came to live with me. Animals took on lives and characteristics which nobody knew anything about except myself. Little things that people did or said grew into fantastic stories. There was a man who turned into an alligator for my amusement. All he did was live in a one-room house by himself down near Lake Belle. I did the rest myself. He came into the village one evening near dusk and stopped at the store. Somebody teased him about living out there by himself, and said that if he did not hurry up and get married, he was liable to go wild. I saw him tending his little garden all day, and otherwise just being a natural man. But I made an image of him for after dark that was different. In my imagination, his work-a-day hands and feet became the reptilian claws of an alligator. A tough, knotty hide crept over him, and his mouth became a huge snout with prong-toothed, powerful jaws. In the dark of the night, when the alligators began their nightly mysteries behind the cloaking curtain of cypress trees that all but hid Lake Belle, I could see him crawling from his door, turning his ugly head from left to right to see who was looking, then gliding down into the dark waters to become a ’gator among ’gators. He would mingle his bellow with other bull ’gator bellows and be strong and terrible. He was the king of ’gators and the others minded him. When I heard the thunder of bull ’gator voices from the lake on dark nights, I used to whisper to myself, “That’s Mr. Pendir! Just listen at him!

… The most important contribution you can make now is taking pride in your treasured home state. Because nobody else is. Study and cherish her history, even if you have to do it on your own time. I did. Don’t know what they’re teaching today, but when I was a kid, American history was the exact same every year: Christopher Columbus, Plymouth Rock, Pilgrims, Thomas Paine, John Hancock, Sons of Liberty, tea party. I’m thinking, ‘Okay, we have to start somewhere— we’ll get to Florida soon enough.’…Boston Massacre, Crispus Attucks, Paul Revere, the North Church, ‘Redcoats are coming,’ one if by land, two if by sea, three makes a crowd, and I’m sitting in a tiny desk, rolling my eyes at the ceiling. Hello! Did we order the wrong books? Were these supposed to go to Massachusetts?…Then things showed hope, moving south now: Washington crosses the Delaware, down through original colonies, Carolinas, Georgia. Finally! Here we go! Florida’s next! Wait. What’s this? No more pages in the book. School’s out? Then I had to wait all summer, and the first day back the next grade: Christopher Columbus, Plymouth Rock…Know who the first modern Floridians were? Seminoles! Only unconquered group in the country! These are your peeps, the rugged stock you come from. Not genetically descended, but bound by geographical experience like a subtropical Ellis Island. Because who’s really from Florida? Not the flamingos, or even the Seminoles for that matter. They arrived when the government began rounding up tribes, but the Seminoles said, ‘Naw, we prefer waterfront,’ and the white man chased them but got freaked out in the Everglades and let ’em have slot machines…I see you glancing over at the cupcakes and ice cream, so I’ll limit my remaining remarks to distilled wisdom: “Respect your parents. And respect them even more after you find out they were wrong about a bunch of stuff. Their love and hard work got you to the point where you could realize this. “Don’t make fun of people who are different. Unless they have more money and influence. Then you must. “If someone isn’t kind to animals, ignore anything they have to say. “Your best teachers are sacrificing their comfort to ensure yours; show gratitude. Your worst are jealous of your future; rub it in. “Don’t talk to strangers, don’t play with matches, don’t eat the yellow snow, don’t pull your uncle’s finger. “Skip down the street when you’re happy. It’s one of those carefree little things we lose as we get older. If you skip as an adult, people talk, but I don’t mind. “Don’t follow the leader. “Don’t try to be different—that will make you different. “Don’t try to be popular. If you’re already popular, you’ve peaked too soon. “Always walk away from a fight. Then ambush. “Read everything. Doubt everything. Appreciate everything. “When you’re feeling down, make a silly noise. “Go fly a kite—seriously. “Always say ‘thank you,’ don’t forget to floss, put the lime in the coconut. “Each new year of school, look for the kid nobody’s talking to— and talk to him. “Look forward to the wonderment of growing up, raising a family and driving by the gas station where the popular kids now work. “Cherish freedom of religion: Protect it from religion. “Remember that a smile is your umbrella. It’s also your sixteen-in-one reversible ratchet set. “ ‘I am rubber, you are glue’ carries no weight in a knife fight. “Hang on to your dreams with everything you’ve got. Because the best life is when your dreams come true. The second-best is when they don’t but you never stop chasing them. So never let the authority jade your youthful enthusiasm. Stay excited about dinosaurs, keep looking up at the stars, become an archaeologist, classical pianist, police officer or veterinarian. And, above all else, question everything I’ve just said. Now get out there, class of 2020, and take back our state!

Gators!

them do their best. Before

I love everything about spring! Reeks of hope, new lease on another year, blooming possibilities, lush beds of violet wildflowers along the interstate, nature’s annual migration: whooping cranes, manatees, Canadians.

These are the first responders,” said Serge. “Our state’s finest, putting their lives on the line for the rest of us every single day, and what thanks do they get? A highway of dickheads who don’t want to miss the next traffic light.

You think we started with a bunch of prehistoric ooze, and some of it just happened to turn into Bella Abzug?” They shook their heads. “There were some dead ends along the way, hence natural selectivity. But for my money, the rest is God in a Darwin costume. So if you can wrap your brain around self-organization, then evolution is intelligent design. The Lord is even greater!…But I’m not sure.

Church kids took seats around him on the ground. “What else do you have?” “Well,” said Serge, putting his left shoe back on. “There’s Casey Kasem’s American Top Forty. You know where the oldest lyrics ever to be heard on his show came from?” Heads shook. “Book of Ecclesiastes.” He stood. “Adapted for the Byrds’ mega-hit ‘Turn! Turn! Turn!’” “Cool.

THERE ARE IO TYPES OF PEOPLE IN THE WORLD : THOSE WHO UNDERSTAND BINARY, AND THOSE WHO DON’T.

So I took another look at Genesis …” “You know Genesis?” “And Nehemiah, Ezra, Proverbs, Lamentations—one of my favorites, hilarious subtext, but I can’t read it on airplanes, where people get upset with laughing fits. The whole book’s a classic.” “You read the whole Bible?” “Couple times. And you know how in Genesis, Lot’s the only good guy in the twin cities, Sodom and Gomorrah. These two male angels come to stay with him. Apparently they’re lookers. Think Matt Damon and Ben Affleck in Dogma. And these people from his street bang on Lot’s door, wanting him to let the houseguests out so they can have gay sex. Now Lot’s always been an accommodating neighbor, but this ain’t no potluck dinner. They argue back and forth, going nowhere. So, finally, in an attempt to show that sex with girls is much more fun and convert them to heterosexuality, Lot offers to turn over his two underage, virgin daughters for gang rape.” “It doesn’t say that!” “Let me see your Bible.” Serge executed a perfect sword drill, finding chapter nineteen in seconds. He turned the book around, slid it back across the table and tapped verse eight. Three youths crowded over the page. “It does say that. But how can it be?” “Because God blessed us with curiosity. Read it with an open mind and you realize it’s actually a brilliant satire on homophobia. Think as an individual: The Lord doesn’t want a train pulled on little kids. It’s like reading Swift’s Modest Proposal and thinking he really wants to eat babies. What the Bible’s trying to say is we’re all his children. But if you take Lot’s story literally, well, nice family values, eh? But that’s just my interpretation, which I’m now questioning. I could be way off.” The youths got up and went over to their pastor. “I think we’ve been wrong about gay people …” “… They’re fellow children of God.

Dear friends and enemies, Season’s greetings! It’s me, Serge! Don’t you just hate these form letters people stuff in Christmas cards? Nothing screams “you’re close to my heart” like a once-a-year Xerox. Plus, all the lame jazz that’s going on in their lives. “Had a great time in Memphis.” “Bobby lost his retainer down a storm drain.” “I think the neighbors are dealing drugs.” But this letter is different. You are special to me. I’m just forced to use a copy machine and gloves because of advancements in forensics. I love those TV shows! Has a whole year already flown by? Much to report! Let’s get to it! Number one: I ended a war. You guessed correct, the War on Christmas! When I first heard about it, I said to Coleman, “That’s just not right! We must enlist!” I rushed to the front lines, running downtown yelling “Merry Christmas” at everyone I saw. And they’re all saying “Merry Christmas” back. Hmmm. That’s odd: Nobody’s stopping us from saying “Merry Christmas.” Then I did some research, and it turns out the real war is against people saying “Happy holidays.” The nerve: trying to be inclusive. So, everyone … Merry Christmas! Happy Hannukah! Good times! Soul Train! Purple mountain majesties! The Pompatus of Love! There. War over. And just before it became a quagmire. Next: Decline of Florida Roundup. —They tore down the Big Bamboo Lounge near Orlando. Where was everybody on that one? —Remember the old “Big Daddy’s” lounges around Florida with the logo of that bearded guy? They’re now Flannery’s or something. —They closed 20,000 Leagues. And opened Buzz Lightyear. I offered to bring my own submarine. Okay, actually threatened, but they only wanted to discuss it in the security office. I’ve been doing a lot of running lately at theme parks. —Here’s a warm-and-fuzzy. Anyone who grew up down here knows this one, and everyone else won’t have any idea what I’m talking about: that schoolyard rumor of the girl bitten by a rattlesnake on the Steeplechase at Pirate’s World (now condos). I’ve started dropping it into all conversations with mixed results. —In John Mellencamp’s megahit “Pink Houses,” the guy compliments his wife’s beauty by saying her face could “stop a clock.” Doesn’t that mean she was butt ugly? Nothing to do with Florida. Just been bugging me. Good news alert! I’ve decided to become a children’s author! Instilling state pride in the youngest residents may be the only way to save the future. The book’s almost finished. I’ve only completed the first page, but the rest just flows after that. It’s called Shrimp Boat Surprise. Coleman asked what the title meant, and I said life is like sailing on one big, happy shrimp boat. He asked what the surprise was, and I said you grow up and learn that life bones you up the ass ten ways to Tuesday. He started reading and asked if a children’s book should have the word “motherfucker” eight times on the first page. I say, absolutely. They’re little kids, after all. If you want a lesson to stick, you have to hammer it home through repetition…In advance: Happy New Year! (Unlike 2008—ouch!)

The part that kills me is their latest wave of commercials.” Serge tipped back his bottled water. “The message now is that they’re against oil. How stupid do they think we are? BP’s new slogan: ‘Beyond Petroleum.’ The name of the damn company is British fucking Petroleum. They’re not beyond petroleum; they’re waist-deep in North Sea crude with the gas pump up our ass …” “Serge, your head’s turning that color again.” “… Or the ones showing cute Alaskan wildlife, wheat fields and wind farms, with the voice-over from a woman who sounds like she’s ready to fuck: ‘Imagine an oil company that cares.’ Holy Orwell, why not ‘Marlboro: We’re in the business of helping you quit smoking, so buy a carton today! ’ …

Shit Can Happen" Bitch Yeah... [1] - Shit can happen [8X] [Kon Artis] Yo, yo, huh, yo, yo, yo That's right motherfuckers we back Same slanging, orangatangin, wilding out on hoodrats They say I act like I'm too famous to say hi And tell 'em what my name is but really I'm still nameless... You niggas don't get it yet do you Dealing out platinum or flop I still put it through you Wit a luger that'll spit fire And hit higher than a pitch by a bitch like Mariah You think for one second since we got a deal That we won't deal wit you in front of St Andrew's still? You gay rappers better learn that I won't stop until I see 'em turn back If you don't slow that roll you got You gonna see these Runyan Ave. niggas that really need some Prozac For' sure' that, ask the others But gator lay you down next to your mother's mother's grandmother [Kuniva] You know I'm feeling real rowdy tonight Ready to fight and half the niggas I give dap to I don't even like The same cat who never gave a damn about your name I gives a fuck about it like the next selling Clippers' game I kill you in ways you couldn't even fathom You and your madame, it's really unexplainable how I have 'em Who call theyself screaming about a challenge Nigga we got a gift while you barely making it off mere talent My skills are deeply embedded even your hoe said it She was knock kneed I fucked her now she's bow legged In the middle of rappin I drop the mic And have a stare down and jump in the crowd and start scrappin Kuniva and Kon Artis my nigga we get it cracking While the paramedics pick you up we on the side laughing [HOOK: 1- in background] [Kon Artis] Now this aint funny so don't you dare laugh Shit can happen in him and yo' ass You can be touched don't think you can't Cause niggas aint fucking around no more man [repeat] [Swifty McVay]

inveigle,

As far as I'm concerned, the gator that ate T.C. deserves a medal from Crime Stoppers.

Like a thickening woman, one halter top strap off the shoulder, like a man adjusting his thin hair while his sports car idles, there is evidence that summer is going to seed, leaving you to nurse regret through the fall, the season of penitence.

It’ll be a bullet, a bomb, or maybe I’ll just eat the butthead,” Gator said.

Behind him stood one of the men that frequently mocked his salute, but Air Force Gator thought of nothing but Grandpa as he stood in front of the grave. A small tear rolled down Air Force Gator’s scaly face as he slowly raised his tiny little alligator arm. It didn’t reach his forehead. It didn’t even reach his chin. It didn’t matter. Grandpa would have understood.

College visit for the weekend,” Wall said. “’Bama.” “Oh.” Max tried to nod knowingly. “Sure. Go Gators.” They all looked at him as if he’d kicked the Pope in the junk. “Max,” Audie said, aghast, “it’s Roll Tide.

Ma'll be back," he said. "I dunno. She's wearin' her gator shoes." "A ma don't leave her kids. It ain't in 'em." "You told me that fox left her babies." "Yeah, but that vixen got 'er leg all tore up. She'd've starved to death if she'd tried to feed herself 'n' her kits. She was better off to leave 'em, heal herself up, then welp more when she could raise 'em good. Ma ain't starvin', she'll be back." Jodie wasn't nearly as sure as he sounded, but said it for Kya. Her throat tight, she whispered, "But Ma's carryin' that blue case like she's goin' somewheres big.

had