Gman Quotes

There were books about how to be gay; he'd seen them in stores and libraries. Some of them even had diagrams. But there weren't any diagrams about how to fall in love with your best friend and not fuck everything up.

So, you’re just going to leave without saying good-bye? Damn girl, did you leave my money on the dresser?

In every long-term relationship are a few pockets of deep and dangerous water into which one can step unaware if not careful. Eventually, somebody drowns or the interested parties post warning signs around these pockets.

I’m not looking to get hurt, Taz. I’m just looking to get thoroughly fucked.

It seems your non-alpha man has had a change of heart about chasing your high-maintenance ass, after all.

I’m nobody’s lap dog. So, if you think I’m going to be out there chasing your ass all over D.C. tonight like some freaking, alpha control freak, think again.

Hmm, well maybe the G-man can make nice to my G-spot.

So are we good then?” I raised my face up to his and we kissed. “Maybe,” I said, starting to feel better. “Only maybe?” He cocked an eyebrow at me, his eyes full of amusement. “How can I change that ‘maybe’ into a ‘definitely’?

I had just finished cleaning up after breakfast when my cell phone rang. The caller identification came across as ‘G-Man’? “Hello?” “Hey baby,” the soft, sexy voice said. “Slate?” “Who the fuck else would be calling you that?” “Did you program your number into my cell phone?” “Uhh, yeah - is that a problem?

We fit together like puzzle pieces when we snuggled together.

You mean I'm not a cougar?" He laughed his beautiful, sexy laugh and pulled me to him, kissing my face. "Technically, I think you're a puma.

…Taz. I’m cuddly not clingy, in case you haven’t noticed.

Did we make love today, Slate?” “We fucked baby. That is what you and I do. We fuck. And today we did it damn well.

And that's another thing. What if I were to talk to Tanker, find out if he's happy at the Polonius Room, see if maybe he wants to come back? He was always such a key part of this kitchen." Rickey pointed a chocolate-smudged finger at Lenny. "Don't you dare. If I decide I want to talk to him, I'll talk to him. I told you, I don't need you handling my business for me." "I understand," Lenny said, making a mental note to call Tanker.

I have never seen a more sublime demonstration of the totalitarian mind, a mind which might be linked unto a system of gears where teeth have been filed off at random. Such snaggle-toothed thought machine, driven by a standard or even by a substandard libido, whirls with the jerky, noisy, gaudy pointlessness of a cuckoo clock in Hell. The boss G-man concluded wrongly that there were no teeth on the gears in the mind of Jones. 'You're completely crazy,' he said. Jones wasn't completely crazy. The dismaying thing about classic totalitarian mind is that any given gear, thought mutilated, will have at its circumference unbroken sequences of teeth that are immaculately maintained, that are exquisitely machined. Hence the cuckoo clock in Hell - keeping perfect time for eight minutes and twenty-three seconds, jumping ahead fourteen minutes, keeping perfect time for six seconds, jumping ahead two seconds, keeping perfect time for two hours and one second, then jumping ahead a year. The missing teeth, of course, are simple, obvious truths, truths available and comprehensible even to ten-year-olds, in most cases. The wilful filling off a gear teeth, the wilful doing without certain obvious pieces of information - That was how a household as contradictory as one composed of Jones, Father Keeley, Vice-Bundesfuehrer Krapptauer, and the Black Fuehrer could exist in relative harmony - That was how my father-in-law could contain in one mind an indifference toward slave women and love fora a blue vase - That was how Rudolf Hess, Commandant of Auschwitz, could alternate over the loudspeakers of Auschwitz great music and calls for corpse-carriers - That was how Nazi Germany sense no important difference between civilization and hydrophobia - That is the closest I can come to explaining the legions, the nations of lunatics I've seen in my time.

It was new territory for me sexually, and for Taz, it was undeniably new territory for him emotionally.

He was studying me now with those gorgeous, green bedroom eyes of his.

Lindsey was beautiful and cute, innocent and sexy, sweet and a smart-ass. That was what fascinated me so much about her. She was multi-dimensional, yet not complicated.

Rickey sometimes wondered what would have become of them if the Peychaud crew hadn't imploded one night in a marathon of apocalyptic drunkenness. No one remembered much of this night, but by the end of it, two cars were totaled, the sous chef and the bartender were in Charity Hospital, the chef was in jail, and the grill guy's wife was filing for divorce. The owner decided to close the place and they found themselves jobless. Rickey guessed this kind of thing was known as a "wake-up call

I couldn't keep my eyes off of her when she was leaning over to open a file drawer. I'd purposely moved all of the expense files to the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet in my office for that very reason.

I stood up now, and placed my knuckles on his desk, leaning forward in a show of defiance, giving him a glare that I'd mastered in third grade.

He molded himself next to me in my bed; he was dressed in black like some ‘summer’ Ninja; black wife beater shirt; black jeans and ever so quiet and panther-like in his movements…

Any time, Diamond,” he replied, giving me a sexy smile. He turned going back to his group. I watched as he sauntered away, totally mesmerized by his powerful presence. That was the only way that I could describe it. There was a sense of power he exuded; and it was sexy; damn sexy.

A chiropractor is a doctor who performs adjustments on the spine," Rickey told the class before bending Gary backward and "adjusting" him, ripping off the false arm and spraying red hair dye all over the classroom. Gary howled in "pain" and collapsed dramatically on the threadbare school carpet, his legs flailing a bit before hitting the floor with a terrible, final-sounding thunk. That was the first time they were sent to the principal's office together. They had to apologize to their teacher and explain to their classmates that doctor visits were unlikely to result in surprise dismemberments.

Trust me, love, you take to my cock like a fish takes to water. If I ever force myself on you, it'll be because you beg me for it that way.

I was contemplating dropping out [pole dancing lessons]; I could barely move a muscle. It had certainly burst my ‘I’m in great shape’ bubble.

But Daddy, I never knew that's what you expected of me. I mean on the plus side, I've never been arrested or anything..

I wasn't putting socks and shoes on at this stage. Hell, what was the point? We'd be having "break-in" sex within a matter of twenty minutes by my estimation.

Jesus Christ, Easton! Are we fucking back in the middle ages?" "If we were, I assure you I wouldn't have left him breathing.

I wondered what the Presidential Suite at the St. Regis had to offer tonight besides some fantastic cock.

Some figment; I can still feel the remnants dripping out of me," I teased. "You are a crude colonial," he remarked dryly.

Oh Christ! Yet another reason I didn't do relationships; women and their infinite need to talk when silence would do just as well.

Being infuriated was actually a boost to my productivity I discovered. I bulldozed through the stack of work on my desk…

Umm,” he moaned, as he started his rhythmic movements underneath me; raising me up and down with his hands at the speed and tempo he wanted. I leaned forward a bit so that my breasts were brushing against his chest; my hands gripped his shoulders as the heat of our lovemaking increased. He raised me up and down; up and down; my hips gyrated in a circular motion making sure the head of his beautiful cock was hitting my magic spot over and over again. My whimpers of pleasure were getting louder; his breathing was coming faster…

Grover told me he could dissolve the empathy link between us, now that we were face to face, but I told him I'd just as soon keep it if that was okay with him. He put down his reed pipes and stared at me. 'But, if I get in trouble again, you'll be in danger, Percy! You could die!' 'If you get in trouble again, I want to know about it. And I'll come help you again, G-man. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Don’t look now,” she whispered loudly. “It seems your non-alpha man has had a change of heart about chasing your high-maintenance ass, after all.

build a new ship out of old wood or you're destined to sink.

When it comes to fucking someone over, don't fuck with someone who knows how to fuck you harder.

learned,

You left the door unlocked," he answered casually, as if it was still perfectly acceptable to come into someone's home if they were negligent in locking the door.

I need to know that you will be a good girl and not scream. Do you promise?” “I promise,” I said gritting my teeth, arching my back. I heard him laugh quietly as he moved his face back to mine. His mouth was on mine; I could taste the salty sweetness of myself on his lips…

Our Director had a vision, Sheriff Swagger. He envisioned a scientific national police force, incorruptible, untainted by ego, vanity, and politics. Alas, as we have learned, that also meant untainted by experience, toughness, cunning, and marksmanship. Lawyers make poor gunfighters.

I certainly didn't get the memo about all these different degrees of caring. In my world, you either cared or you didn't. People either mattered or they didn't. You either had a future together or not.

I want to fuck you in the worst way possible. What I don't want is to be some revenge fuck of yours in order to get back at your cheating boyfriend, who you'll most likely get back together with before you touch down in D.C. I'm not that guy, love. When I fuck you, there will be no doubt in your mind as to whom you're with and why you're with me, understand?

What is you, Sam?" I hesitated, trying to think about how I visualized myself. All I came up with was how other people visualized me. I was visualized as a daughter, a wife, a mother, a best friend by those people in my life, but I had no clue as to how I viewed myself as a person. I'd never bothered to carve out an identity for myself.

I hope your cock rots off.

what I’m saying is, before I hand over my sexual history, I want to have a test-run.

Kiss me once, and then try to tell me you’re done.

I didn’t catch your last name, Eric.

Is that a question or an answer?

Can you hold on a sec Linds? I'm on my hamburger phone.

Okay, that took a long second for me to swallow my WTF moment.

I guess congratulations are in order, Sam.

I preferred keeping things superficial and carnal. I didn’t want it that way with Sammie. I wanted more. I wanted it all.

Who the hell left that mark on you? I want to know who it is that I need to fuck up.

Big Titty Ho on a Motorcycle’. Darcy insisted that I'd love it. It was tequila, Pepsi, amaretto, and whiskey-sour mix. I had to admit, they were growing on me.

You want to carry my baby?

The right man in the wrong place can make all the difference in the world.

If they’s interested, they wouldn’t believe it. If they believed it, they’d arrest me.

Lindsey Erin Dennison, I love you. You are my best friend. Today I give myself to you in marriage. I promise to encourage and inspire you; to laugh with you and to comfort you in times of sorrow and struggle. I promise to love you in good times and in bad; when life seems easy and when it seems hard; when our love is simple and when it's an effort. I promise to cherish you, and to always hold you in highest regard.  I promise my faithfulness and devotion to you. These things I give to you today, and all the days of my life.

If Hoover had decided to step down at that moment in 1959, after thirty-five years at the FBI’s helm, we might remember him differently: as a popular and well-respected government official, often cruel and controversial but a hero to more Americans than not. Instead, he stayed on through the 1960s and emerged as one of history’s great villains, perhaps the most universally reviled American political figure of the twentieth century. His abuses and excesses, from the secret manipulations of COINTELPRO to his deep-seated racism, offer a troubling case study in unaccountable government power.

More raiders came down the stairs prodding the Reverend Dr. Lionel J. D. Jones, the Black Fuehrer, and Father Keeley before them. Dr. Jones stopped halfway down the stairs, confronted his tormentors. 'All I've done, 'he said majestically, 'is do what you people should be doing.' 'What should we be doing?' said a G-man. He was obviously in command of the raid. 'Protecting the Republic,' said Jones. 'Why bother us? Everything we do is to make the country stronger! Join with us, and let's go after the people who are trying to make it weaker!' 'Who's that?' said the G-man. 'I have to tell you?' said Jones. 'Haven't you even found that in the course of your work? The Jews! The Catholics! The Negroes! The Orientals! The Unitarians! The foreign-born, who don't have any understanding of democracy, who play right into the hands of the socialists, the communists, the anarchists, the anti-Christs and the Jews!' 'For your information,' said the G-man in cool triumph, 'I am a Jew.' 'That proves what I've just been saying!' said Jones. 'How's that?', said the G-man. 'The Jews have infiltrated everything!' said Jones, smiling the smile of a logician who could never be topped. 'You talk about the Catholics and the Negroes-' said the G-man, 'and yet your two best friends are a Catholic and a Negro.' 'What's so mysterious about that?' said Jones. 'Don't you hate them?', said the G-man. 'Certainly not,' said Jones. 'We all believe the same basic thing.' 'What's that?' said the G-man. 'This once-proud country of ours is falling into the hands of wrong people,' said Jones. He nodded, and so did Father Keeley and the Black Fuehrer. 'And, before it gets back on the right track,' said Jones, 'some heads are going to roll.' I have never seen a more sublime demonstration of the totalitarian mind, a mind which might be linked unto a system of gears where teeth have been filed off at random.

He hunts the biggest of all game! Public enemies that even the G-men cannot reach! This 1939 signature was reportedly revamped after top G-man J. Edgar Hoover complained. For many years thereafter it was He hunts the biggest of all game! Public enemies who try to destroy our America! With his faithful valet, Kato, Britt Reid, daring young publisher, matches wits with the underworld, risking his life that criminals and racketeers within the law may feel its weight by the sting of the Green Hornet! And at the end, the inevitable newsboy, hawking his wares: “Special extry! Paper! Police smash smuggling racket! Foreign diplomat involved! Read all about it! Green Hornet still at large!

This once-proud country of ours is falling Into the hands of the wrong people,' said Jones. He nodded, and so did Father Keeley and the Black Fuehrer. 'And, before it gets back on the right track,' said Jones, 'some heads are going to roll.' I have never seen a more sublime demonstration of the totalitarian mind, a mind which might be likened unto a system of gears whose teeth have been filed off at random. Such a snaggle-toothed thought machine, driven by a standard or even a substandard libido, whirls with the jerky, noisy, gaudy pointlessness of a cuckoo clock in Hell. The boss G-man concluded wrongly that there were no teeth on the gears in the mind of Jones. 'You're completely crazy,' he said. Jones wasn't completely crazy. The dismaying thing about the classic totalitarian mind is that any given gear, though mutilated, will have at its circumference unbroken sequences of teeth that are immaculately maintained, that are exquisitely machined. Hence the cuckoo clock in Hell — keeping perfect time for eight minutes and thirty-three seconds, jumping ahead fourteen minutes, keeping perfect time for six seconds, jumping ahead two seconds, keeping perfect time for two hours and one second, then jumping ahead a year. The missing teeth, of course, are simple, obvious truths, truths available and comprehensible even to ten-year-olds, in most cases. The willful filing off of gear teeth, the willful doing without certain obvious pieces of information — That was how a household as contradictory as one composed of Jones, Father Keeley, Vice-Bundesfuebrer Krapptauer, and the Black Fuehrer could exist in relative harmony — That was how my father-in-law could contain in one mind an indifference toward slave women and love for a blue vase — That was how Rudolf Hoess, Commandant of Auschwitz, could alternate over the loudspeakers of Auschwitz great music and calls for corpse-carriers — That was how Nazi Germany could sense no important differences between civilization and hydrophobia —

This once-proud country of ours is falling into the hands of the wrong people,” said Jones. He nodded, and so did Father Keeley and the Black Fuehrer. “And, before it gets back on the right track,” said Jones, “some heads are going to roll.” I have never seen a more sublime demonstration of the totalitarian mind, a mind which might be likened unto a system of gears whose teeth have been filed off at random. Such a snaggle-toothed thought machine, driven by a standard or even a substandard libido, whirls with the jerky, noisy, gaudy pointlessness of a cuckoo clock in Hell. The boss G-man concluded wrongly that there were no teeth on the gears in the mind of Jones. “You’re completely crazy,” he said. Jones wasn’t completely crazy. The dismaying thing about the classic totalitarian mind is that any given gear, though mutilated, will have at its circumference unbroken sequences of teeth that are immaculately maintained, that are exquisitely machined. Hence the cuckoo clock in Hell—keeping perfect time for eight minutes and thirty-three seconds, jumping ahead fourteen minutes, keeping perfect time for six seconds, jumping ahead two seconds, keeping perfect time for two hours and one second, then jumping ahead a year. The missing teeth, of course, are simple, obvious truths, truths available and comprehensible even to ten-year-olds, in most cases. The willful filing off of gear teeth, the willful doing without certain obvious pieces of information— That was how a household as contradictory as one composed of Jones, Father Keeley, Vice-Bundesfuehrer Krapptauer, and the Black Fuehrer could exist in relative harmony— That was how my father-in-law could contain in one mind an indifference toward slave women and love for a blue vase— That was how Rudolf Hoess, Commandant of Auschwitz, could alternate over the loudspeakers of Auschwitz great music and calls for corpse-carriers— That was how Nazi Germany could sense no important differences between civilization and hydrophobia— That is the closest I can come to explaining the legions, the nations of lunatics I’ve seen in my time. And for me to attempt such a mechanical explanation is perhaps a reflection of the father whose son I was. Am. When I pause to think about it, which is rarely, I am, after all, the son of an engineer. Since there is no one else to praise me, I will praise myself—will say that I have never tampered with a single tooth in my thought machine, such as it is. There are teeth missing, God knows—some I was born without, teeth that will never grow. And other teeth have been stripped by the clutchless shifts of history— But never have I willfully destroyed a tooth on a gear of my thinking machine. Never have I said to myself, “This fact I can do without.” Howard W. Campbell, Jr., praises himself. There’s life in the old boy yet! And, where there’s life— There is life.

We’re going to fuck.

Who pissed on your cornflakes?

I lay in the darkness, a single tear escaped and rolled down my cheek. Within minutes, I heard Jack's even breathing signaling that he was sleeping. What the hell was wrong with me?

Gareth Miller grabbed the beer first, then the hotdog, because if there’s one thing you don’t want to be caught dead without at these sorts of events it’s beer. The hotdog was strictly for show, a prop, a way of blending in. Burst of static in his right ear: “G-man, you read me? What’s yo’ twenty, dawg?” Gareth departed the concession stand, stopped, looked down at his hands, and tossed the hotdog into the first trash receptacle he saw. Raising his wrist to his mouth, he spoke into the cuff of his long-sleeved tee. “Concession stand, Section B. Over.” Allowing his hand to linger by his chin, he gingerly scratched his cheek as if he had meant to do it all along. The same voice: “Yo, I’m in position. Ready when you is.” Gareth cringed while crossing the wide concourse, checking both directions. The giant hallway was the main drag of a ghost town, its only residents a solitary custodian sweeping debris into a portable waste bin and the concession crew to his rear.

I bet the mannequin hasn’t even noticed, has he?

Oh, I guess I didn’t mention it before, but yes, I’m in the BAU of the FBI, and no—I do not know Dr. Spencer Reid or the other dude that Shemar Moore plays on the show. Do you realize how often I get asked that question?

Cuthbert the Spider had recovered his poise somewhat but was overawed in the presence of the real law. He fixed his eyes on a glass case filled with a collection of out-of-date gyves collected by the Chief Constable and presented to the Force, which didn’t in the least appreciate the gift on account of the cleaning involved by it. “Are them ’andcuffs…bracelets…?” he whispered. “Yes,” replied the Superintendent and seizing the awed gangster under the armpits, he lifted him high enough for inspection. In the twinkling of an eye, Cuthbert (Spider) Silversides was converted into a G-Man.

This Is Your FBI was inevitably compared to The FBI in Peace and War in the G-Man thriller parade. Radio Life concluded that both were worthy and there was little to distinguish one from the other. This Is was privy to official Bureau files, while Peace and War was mainly fiction. But Peace and War sounded authentic: its author, Frederick L. Collins, had received Bureau cooperation in his research, though the radio version of his subsequent book remained unsanctioned.

My only regret," Dr. Jones said to the boss G-man there on the cellar stairs, "is that I have but one life to give to my country." "We'll see if we can dig up some other regrets for you too," said the boss.

Some men are born to destroy, and nothing satisfies them but that. Whatever you’ve got, they want to tear it apart, from architecture and bank vaults to order and society itself, anything, just to watch it twist, shred, and die. Then

If you did ’Nam, brother, no payment at all. You already paid up in full.” —

That’s the bravest thing, I think: not to be brave for yourself but for a buddy when it gets you nothing and costs you everything.

Charles checked on his two snitches among the subversives. There were bascially two subversive groups in Blue Eye -Communists and Republicans, - and Charles confirmed quickly that neither had any revolutions planned

Genesis put his hand over Curtis’. Curtis turned his hand over and linked their fingers together and they stayed that way for a while. Neither one talking, just exchanging long glances and endearing smiles. He couldn’t explain it, because although he was still slightly star struck that Genesis “G-Man” Godfrey was sitting here beside him, casually talking with him about their lives. He was quickly turning into just Genesis to him. “Will you kiss me?” Curtis whispered softly. “I’d love nothing more,” Genesis answered sweetly. They met together in the softest, most gentle touching of their mouths. Genesis cupped his jaw, lightly caressing his smooth cheek with his thumb, as held him place. Curtis slanted his head but Genesis was a gentleman. He didn’t take it too much further. He brushed his lips back and forth over his and Curtis thought he felt a quick flick of a moist tongue, but it was gone too fast to be sure. When they pulled back, Genesis stared into his eyes, like he was looking for something. And Curtis recognized the minute Genesis found it. His mouth curved into a charming smile and he pulled Curtis into a tight hug. A hug you could feel deep down in your core. It was what he’d needed, it was what he wanted, and at this moment he truly appreciated Genesis for it. “Curtis!

Yeah Dad. I’m in here.” Curtis laughed. He knew Ruxs could be a little blunt and heavy-tempered, but he was sure his dads trusted him. A few seconds later Ruxs came through the door, quickly taking in the scene in front of him. His dad wasn’t stupid – he was a detective – so surely he could put the pieces together. Curtis tried to give his dad a look that said “please for the love of god, don’t embarrass me.” Ruxs looked over at Genesis. “How’s it going, G-Man?” Curtis mouth dropped open. Oh hell. “Pretty good, Ruxs. Long time no see.” “Yeah it has been a while. It’s a big surprise to see you here with my boy,” Ruxs said eyeing him carefully. “Dad,” Curtis hissed. Boy? Really? Ruxs ignored him, maintaining his glaring eye contact with Genesis. “Your team’s off to a damn good start this season. That Florida game was close. Y’all got a tough schedule this year.” Genesis sat forward but didn’t stand. “I’m up for the challenge.” “I bet you are.” “Dad.” Curtis scowled again. “You just here for the weekend, Genesis? I would think the coach would have y’all on a pretty tight curfew.” “I got a weekend pass,” Genesis answered with an easy smile. “So you’ll be leaving soon, right?” “Dad. Genesis was at the funeral. Did you know that?” Ruxs tilted his head in question. “Really. No I didn’t realize. All I saw were a bunch of grown. Ass. Men. I must didn’t distinguish.” Curtis’ eyes bugged out of his head. When he looked at Genesis, he didn’t seem fazed. But he on the other hand was humiliated. “I will be leaving tonight. I just came down to show my support. But I’ll be back next week for Thanksgiving break and I’d like to take Curtis on a date, if it’s alright with —” “Hell no,” Ruxs said, not letting Genesis finish. Green walked in before Curtis could say a word. “There you are, Curtis. I was wondering where you’d disappeared…” Green stopped, noticing Ruxs and Genesis’ stare off. “Oh.” Curtis turned to Genesis. “You want to go out with me? I’d like that.” “You can like it all you want,” Ruxs butted in. Curtis gave his dad his most angry look. “I’m not some sixteen year old debutant. What the heck has gotten into you?” “Curtis your grandma is leaving, she wants to say goodbye to you. Why don’t you go on downstairs,” Green said, stepping aside. “We’re gonna talk to Genesis.” Curtis was reluctant to leave, but he did. This was beyond embarrassing. He was almost eighteen. Almost grown. About to graduate and go off to college. He wasn’t even a virgin. Why were they acting like this? Curtis had been on dates. He’d had a steady boyfriend his whole sophomore and junior year, now here they were behaving like they were protecting his untainted virtue.

You talk about the Catholics and the Negroes—” said the G-man, “and yet, here your two best friends are a Catholic and a Negro.” “What’s so mysterious about that?” said Jones. “Don’t you hate them?” said the G-man. “Certainly not,” said Jones. “We all believe the same basic thing.” “What’s that?” said the G-man. “This once-proud country of ours is falling into the hands of the wrong people,” said Jones. He nodded, and so did Father Keeley and the Black Fuehrer. “And, before it gets back on the right track,” said Jones, “some heads are going to roll.

Something you should know about me G-Man,” she said lightly touching his side. “I live without confidence. I live in fear and guilt and loathing. I try to outrun those things with a battle cry.

But a werewolf is a man that chages into a wolf. I’ve never done that. Honest I haven’t.” “A mammal,” Said Ozymandias, “is an animal that bears its young and suckles them. A virgin is nonetheless a mammal. Because you have never changed doesn’t make you less of a werewolf.” “But a werewolf-“ Suddenly Wolfe’s eyes lit up. “A werewolf is better than a G-man!

As early as 1953, Hoover had authorized the creation of a small “Top Hoodlum Program” designed to target the most powerful mob bosses in major American cities. In the wake of Apalachin,

On the day of the Brown ruling, Eastland announced that Southern states “will not abide by nor obey this legislative decision by a political court.

the

Eastland had been born in 1904 into a crucible of Mississippi racial violence. Just months before his birth, his father had led a lynch mob seeking vengeance for the murder of Eastland’s uncle. The mob killed at least three people before finally capturing the alleged murderers, a Black couple. Eastland’s relatives beat the suspects, cut off their fingers and ears, and tortured them with corkscrews before burning the couple alive in front of a crowd a thousand strong. Named for his murdered uncle, Eastland had been groomed to take over his family’s plantation holdings, and to maintain the social and political order on which it rested. Upon arriving in Washington in 1941, he had carved out a place for himself as an outspoken champion of white supremacy. He opposed any federal policy that might disrupt it.

Cowboy to Spykid." And Harry Bolt said, "I wish you wouldn't call me that. I need a better call sign. And I don't want Junior G-Man, Wonder Boy, Bambi, Scrappy-Do, Happy Meal, Fresh Meat, Zombie Bait, Boy Wonder, Shirley Temple, Red Shirt, Bear Cub, Son of a Gun, or any of the other stupid names you suggested." "Really?" I said. "Now's the time for this?" "I want to be called Jester." "Jester? You think this shit's funny?" "No," he said. "Because I don't think it's funny. The name's ironic." "You're an idiot." "I still want to be called Jester. It sounds cool.

During his first summer in office, as if to demonstrate Elson’s claims, Eisenhower convened his cabinet to sign a document declaring that the United States drew its strength and vitality from the Bible. The following year, Congress added the words “under God” to the Pledge of Allegiance and put “In God We Trust” on the nation’s postal stamps (and, later, its paper currency). Lest anyone fail to give credit where credit was due, Elson dedicated his book to Eisenhower, “who by personal example and public utterance is giving testimony to the reality of America’s spiritual foundations.

Sorry, it’s a G-man’s life for me.” “Well—

Who controls the past controls the future; who controls the present controls the past.

Too stupid to know better, too old to care much,” said Charles.

If you get in trouble again, I want to know about it. And I'll come help you again, G-man. I wouldn't have it any other way.