Monroe Bad Quotes

I can believe things that are true and things that aren't true and I can believe things where nobody knows if they're true or not. I can believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and the Beatles and Marilyn Monroe and Elvis and Mister Ed. Listen - I believe that people are perfectable, that knowledge is infinite, that the world is run by secret banking cartels and is visited by aliens on a regular basis, nice ones that look like wrinkled lemurs and bad ones who mutilate cattle and want our water and our women. I believe that the future sucks and I believe that the future rocks and I believe that one day White Buffalo Woman is going to come back and kick everyone's ass. I believe that all men are just overgrown boys with deep problems communicating and that the decline in good sex in America is coincident with the decline in drive-in movie theaters from state to state. I believe that all politicians are unprincipled crooks and I still believe that they are better than the alternative. I believe that California is going to sink into the sea when the big one comes, while Florida is going to dissolve into madness and alligators and toxic waste. I believe that antibacterial soap is destroying our resistance to dirt and disease so that one day we'll all be wiped out by the common cold like martians in War of the Worlds. I believe that the greatest poets of the last century were Edith Sitwell and Don Marquis, that jade is dried dragon sperm, and that thousands of years ago in a former life I was a one-armed Siberian shaman. I believe that mankind's destiny lies in the stars. I believe that candy really did taste better when I was a kid, that it's aerodynamically impossible for a bumble bee to fly, that light is a wave and a particle, that there's a cat in a box somewhere who's alive and dead at the same time (although if they don't ever open the box to feed it it'll eventually just be two different kinds of dead), and that there are stars in the universe billions of years older than the universe itself. I believe in a personal god who cares about me and worries and oversees everything I do. I believe in an impersonal god who set the universe in motion and went off to hang with her girlfriends and doesn't even know that I'm alive. I believe in an empty and godless universe of causal chaos, background noise, and sheer blind luck. I believe that anyone who says sex is overrated just hasn't done it properly. I believe that anyone who claims to know what's going on will lie about the little things too. I believe in absolute honesty and sensible social lies. I believe in a woman's right to choose, a baby's right to live, that while all human life is sacred there's nothing wrong with the death penalty if you can trust the legal system implicitly, and that no one but a moron would ever trust the legal system. I believe that life is a game, that life is a cruel joke, and that life is what happens when you're alive and that you might as well lie back and enjoy it.

Trying to build myself up with the fact that I have done things right that were even good and have had moments that were excellent but the bad is heavier to carry around and feel have no confidence.

My heart in your hands and you in my arms, that’s all I’ll ever need.

You’re like Marilyn Monroe,’ Ken tells me, which I take as a compliment and say a nervous “Thank You”. Interrupting, he adds, ‘You’re all velvet and Velcro. Men want you because you’re sexy and broken and when it gets too rough they can say “Hey! This toy is broken!” and toss you aside without feeling bad.

Friends come and go. But through the thick and thin, the good and bad, you can only ever count on your family. That's the heart of it. Family.

She was born under the sign of Gemini. And that stands for the good and evil twin. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde both hiding and residing inside her heart. Her good twin was not bad at all. But her evil twin was even better, and showed up to be way too fatal!

From the time I met him, he left me little clues of a man, a trail of bread crumbs to a gingerbread cottage. Inside the cottage were peeling pictures of Elizabeth Taylor and Marilyn Monroe that keep sliding to the floor because the walls were too sweet to hold the Blu-Tack. I tried to pick the posters off the floor and got so distracted, I ended up in an oven. So I climbed out of the oven and out of the house and I was saving myself, but it hurt so bad. I found the boy I loved, but he didn't want to hug me because I was blistered and spotted with bread crumbs. I looked up close because, up close, I could always see myself reflected in the surface of his shiny, iconic beauty. But suddenly he had pores, grey hairs, and chapped lips. And I couldn't see a damn thing.

I couldn’t help myself. This woman whom I’d seen handle an entire boardroom full of cocky sons of bitches without batting an eye was crazy adorable. She was tough as nails and hotter than sin. And Christ, she was hilarious. I wanted more of her. A lot fucking more.

I know you’re not ready to hear what I’m feeling, but just know, for me, tonight was more. It was everything.

This vodka is delicious. Not very strong, though.” “That’s because it’s water.” “Hmmmph.

With the way I craved her company, I planned to enroll her in the accelerated education program and keep her there until she had me mastered.

The world is small, baby. But love is large. Big enough that coincidence occasionally rubs elbows with opportunity.

What am I gonna do with me?” she whispered. “So lost in you.

I wasn't looking for someone who was perfect, just someone who perfectly affected me.

couldn’t help but think, if I only made bad decisions for the rest of my life, at least I had made one really good decision with her.

She shrugged. There were no fucks for her to give. Absolutely zero. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d turned her pockets inside out just to prove it to me.

Most people never know more than a surface layer of each other’s personalities. They take the bolder characteristics of a first impression at face value because they’re lazy, and they carry those expectations and prejudices throughout the entire relationship.

From "Grimm: Bad Teeth (#2.1)" (2012) Monroe: Yeah, no, totally. I mean, family reunions can be brutal. Our last one, we lost two cousins and a sheep dog. Rosalee Calvert: Okay. Monroe: No one missed the cousins, you know.

Some days, adulting was too much responsibility. Get up for work. Brush your hair. Pay bills. It was an endless list of too many things and not enough time. The struggle was real, my friends. But

Oh no, I think Boobear is hurt.” It took some serious thinking, but I finally decoded the mystery. “Do you mean Boudmare?” “Yeah, that’s him. His nickname is Boobear.” “The commentators are calling him Boobear?” I asked, fighting a smile. “No, I nicknamed him Boobear. He looks like a giant teddy bear. He’s so cute!” “Oh, dear God,” Thatch groaned. “Oh,

You’re like two fucking catfish, sitting at the bottom of the lake, doing fish shit and stuff.

First rule of life: the woman always goes first. Through doors, into orgasm, and in this case, crumbling to the pressure in a battle of wills. “Fuck

If I was a bird, Kline Brooks could go fuck himself.

His blue eyes twinkled like actual glitter. Like he went to Michael’s, got a jar of it, and then poured it in his irises. “Ohhh,

My heart in your hands and you in my arms, that's all I'll ever need.

Most times, even if giving your heart away ends in heartbreak, the risk was still worth it. Sometimes, that risk gives you little miracles. and sometimes, that risk gives you life lessons that allow you to grow and learn more about yourself.

Kline Brooks left his new intern, Leslie, under my watchful eye while he flew out to L.A. for the day to schmooze investors and impress potential advertising clients for TapNext. I was certain she had been sent straight from Hell. The devil might as well have wrapped a big red bow around her neck and attached a note. Dear Georgie, Have fun with this one. Love, Satan I’d

Holy fucking goat scrotums!

Therefore, my snooze button was ridden hard and put away extremely wet. Every

But how do you know?” “Because it’s our book, Cassie. Yours and mine. This is our story, and I’ll be damned if I let it end badly.”   I

Don’t worry, honey,” he said, his lips mere inches from mine. “We’re on the same page.” “But how do you know?” I asked. “What if we’re not even reading the same fucking book?” “Because I know.” His mouth quirked up at the corners as a confident smile took over his lips. “We’re on the same word, in the same paragraph, on the same page, in the same fantastic fucking book.” “But how do you know?” “Because it’s our book, Cassie. Yours and mine. This is our story, and I’ll be damned if I let it end badly.

I might as well have offered up my vagina to the Museum of Natural History. Surely, it would be shown in the fossils display. I could already picture it, right beside Tyrannosaurus Rex’s teeth. The Last Virginal Vagina in New York. Georgia Cummings 1990-2080 Died happily in her Chelsea apartment, surrounded by all sixteen of her tabby cats.

I was the classiest bitch I knew. And if I wasn’t, I was definitely the Cassiest, and that was close-e-fucking-nough. “How

But what made a man was not the absence of mistakes, but rather, the way he handled them when he made them.

She was crazy. Wild. Chaos & beauty. My heart. Mine.

Good morning, lovely Meryl.” She clicked her tongue. “You better find some other roll to butter up, Mr. Brooks. It may be early, but my allowance of saturated fats is all used up for the day.

Motherhood changed you from the second you looked into the big, innocent eyes of your child. Within an instant, you had an unlimited supply of love for that precious, tiny being. They would forever be yours, and you would forever be the one person who would always love them, protect them, cherish them, worry about them, and fight for them. Everything else felt minor in comparison.

But, Georgie, you work for a company that specializes in an app called TapNext, not the White House.” After a brief beat of silence, we laughed at the same time, and I raised one eyebrow in question. “You’re comparing TapNext to the White House?” “You’re right,” she agreed. “Bad analogy. There’s probably more dick pics there.

Oh, my God!” I covered my mouth with my hand as a shocked gasp escaped my lungs. “What if he becomes desperate, Kline? What if he has no other choice but to start prostituting himself for food? You know he’s not good at making new friends! There’s no way he’s been accepted by the good crowd. He’s probably already addicted to heroin!” “Georgie,

Isn't she gorgeous, Ken?" "Too pretty for Thatch, that's for damn sure.," Ken remarked with a smurk. "Seriously, Cassie? Is he blackmailing you? Do we need to alert the authorities? Blink twice if he kidnapped you. Three times if you fear for you life.

I clutched at my chest with both hands in a pathetic attempt to ease the discomfort. Or maybe I was just trying to prevent myself from bleeding out from the wounds his words had caused because any good doctor knew they needed pressure to stanch the flow

And how do you know he has a big dick? You’ve seen him once. And it was a five-second ‘Oh, that’s my boss, Kline’ conversation while we were walking across the parking lot. You haven’t even met him in person.” “Five seconds is all I need.” She tapped the side of her head. “You know my cockdar is off the chain. I can sense a giant swinging penis pendulum from at least ten miles away. It’s a God-given talent, Georgie.” I choked on my wine. “Let’s not bring God into this.” She raised an eyebrow. “God knows the G-spot needs a more than adequate-sized wiener to get the job done.” “I’m pretty sure that comment just got you wait-listed for heaven.

Isn’t there anyone else you can bug? I’m probably not the best person for the job.” The last football game I’d watched had been the Super Bowl where Janet Jackson’s nipple had made its television debut, and I could honestly have told you more about her areola than the game. I literally knew zilch about sports, especially football. “Please,

But I also know that no one race has any monopoly on good people or bad people. We’re all just people trying to make it in this crazy, fucked up world.

I wasn't a fan of pussy roulette, and when I ate one, I wanted to be able to remember the taste. - Kline. well damn!

I’d make those stretchy pants my bitch. Hell, maybe I’d take a leisurely seventy-mile jog in Central Park just to make sure my twat left her mark.   Gross?

Boobear. He plays on the orange team,” she repeated as though it made sense. “Oh no, I think Boobear is hurt.” It

She should decide what she really wants without being influenced by social norms or penis peer pressure. “You’re

You could never be sure about a nod. They could be tricky little things. “Okay,

Or you can get some tits and go in there and demand a re-do.” “A

Fuck you. Fuck running. Fuck the beautiful sun. Fuck those chirping birds. Fuck that lady pushing her kid in the stroller. It should be me in that fucking stroller.

Sent. Think you can mess with me? Think again, honey. Student, meet teacher.

Me: I don’t know, but if you don’t end this soon, I will murder Gary with my pen.

Bad luck is what we conveniently call our bad choices.

Crazy women seek out things that are bad for them. The smart ones run in the other direction.

He had thanked me for letting him go down on me. I’d never claimed to be a genius, but I was pretty sure Kline Brooks had just wham, bam, and you can thank me, ma’amed me.

Always ready for bad situation

She was beautiful in the way all women were, but she was also different. All this individuality that she never apologized for. It consumed her, and if I was honest, it was starting to consume me.

I can believe things that are true and I can believe things that aren’t true and I can believe things where nobody knows if they’re true or not. I can believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and Marilyn Monroe and the Beatles and Elvis and Mister Ed. Listen—I believe that people are perfectible, that knowledge is infinite, that the world is run by secret banking cartels and is visited by aliens on a regular basis, nice ones that look like wrinkledy lemurs and bad ones who mutilate cattle and want our water and our women. I believe that the future sucks and I believe that the future rocks and I believe that one day White Buffalo Woman is going to come back and kick everyone’s ass. I believe that all men are just overgrown boys with deep problems communicating and that the decline in good sex in America is coincident with the decline in drive-in movie theatres from state to state. I believe that all politicians are unprincipled crooks and I still believe that they are better than the alternative. I believe that California is going to sink into the sea when the big one comes, while Florida is going to dissolve into madness and alligators and toxic waste. I believe that antibacterial soap is destroying our resistance to dirt and disease so that one day we’ll all be wiped out by the common cold like the Martians in War of the Worlds. I believe that the greatest poets of the last century were Edith Sitwell and Don Marquis, that jade is dried dragon sperm, and that thousands of years ago in a former life I was a one-armed Siberian shaman. I believe that mankind’s destiny lies in the stars. I believe that candy really did taste better when I was a kid, that it’s aerodynamically impossible for a bumblebee to fly, that light is a wave and a particle, that there’s a cat in a box somewhere who’s alive and dead at the same time (although if they don’t ever open the box to feed it it’ll eventually just be two different kinds of dead), and that there are stars in the universe billions of years older than the universe itself. I believe in a personal god who cares about me and worries and oversees everything I do. I believe in an impersonal god who set the universe in motion and went off to hang with her girlfriends and doesn’t even know that I’m alive. I believe in an empty and godless universe of causal chaos, background noise and sheer blind luck. I believe that anyone who says that sex is overrated just hasn’t done it properly. I believe that anyone who claims to know what’s going on will lie about the little things too. I believe in absolute honesty and sensible social lies. I believe in a woman’s right to choose, a baby’s right to live, that while all human life is sacred there’s nothing wrong with the death penalty if you can trust the legal system implicitly, and that no one but a moron would ever trust the legal system. I believe that life is a game, life is a cruel joke and that life is what happens when you’re alive and that you might as well lie back and enjoy it.

I'm going to kill her." "Any particular reason you're plotting her murder?" "She's eating everyone's food, including mine! She ate my cheesecake and my goddamn yogurt!" I gestured wildly, flinging my hands into the air. "Do you know why she's doing this? She thought people were being totes adorbs and naming the food." "Leslie didn't realize the names on food meant it belonged to someone?" "Today, she enjoyed a turkey sandwich named Gary. And a yogurt and piece of motherfucking cheesecake named Georgia. She thought it was like, the cutest thing ever how her coworkers were naming food. She's too dumb to live. Literally.

Translation: Total hipster. Although insanely good-looking, this guy would probably end up an NYC transplant in Portland within the next year. But I wasn’t ruling out seeing his gorgeous mug on one of my favorite Instagram accounts, Hot Dudes Reading. Because who doesn’t love seeing man candy nose deep in a book? My

It was impossible to imagine a time when [Fielding's] dry wit wouldn't be around to make me laugh, or to imagine someone else being the one to see the joy on his face when he learned something new. I thought about all of that, and then I thought about never holding him again, never kissing him again, never again experiencing Fielding pushy and demanding and needing me so bad he trembled with it. And man, it fucking hurt. "Okay," I said out loud, swallowing hard. "Okay, I give. Uncle." It was time to admit defeat, to lay down my cards, and concede the game. For the first time in my life, I was in love. I was in love with a guy. I was in love with Fielding Monroe.

Me: I’m glad we never had to resort to robbing banks for money. You’d be a terrible accomplice. Georgia: Yes, remember that. Me = terrible accomplice. Me: Tell me something I don’t already know. If you were a hooker, you’d probably track your payments on an Excel spreadsheet and claim them on your taxes. (Add terrible hooker to the list.) Georgia: Whatever. I’d be the most organized hooker. I’d get one of those credit card swipe-y things. Me: When is the right time to complete the transaction in that scenario? Georgia: I think they’d swipe before, and sign their PayPal receipt after. Me: Prostitute Georgia is classy AF. Georgia: I know, right?

Me: This feels like sexual harassment. Wes: I’m pretty sure you started this conversation. Me: Only because I caught you memorizing the curves of my ass like there was going to be a pop quiz on it later. Wes: And your legs. Me: That is so inappropriate. Wes: Those sexy fucking heels and skirts you prance around in are the only things that are inappropriate.

That’s not what I meant!” Georgia, face flamed in fifty shades of red, finally found the strength to chime in. “I said Kline wants to have anal sex.” I laughed at that. “Every man wants to have anal sex. They have goddamn weekly meetings about it like Weight Watchers to see if they’ve reached their goal. Like a motherfucking weigh-in. But that’s not what you said.

because if I listen to one more thing you say then my heart will be stretched so thin that the tiniest jostle will break it, and I can’t bear that, not again, not after I cared about you so much and you hurt me so badly. Oh Asher, I cared about you so much and I didn’t even know till right this second, why did you have to ruin everything, oh God Asher I think I loved you, I think I still

Every woman I'd ever known had two sets of memories: the one they wanted to remember and the one their heart wouldn't let them forget. The first kind were chosen, mostly positive and personality building, but the second would live on forever, despite age and fatigue and life-stealing diseases like dementia and Alzheimer's. Coded on the heart like a hard drive, the feelings never vanished.

But behind each player stood a line of ghosts unable to win. Eve. Ashputtel. Marilyn Monroe. Rapunzel slashing wildly at her hair. Bessie Smith unloved and down and out. Bluebeard's wives, Henry VIII's, Snow White cursing the day she left the seven dwarves, Diana, Princess of Wales. The Sheepish Beast came in with a tray of schnapps at the end of the game and we stood for the toast -"fay wray"- then tossed our fiery drinks to the back of our crimson throats. Bad girls. Serious ladies. Mourning our dead.

Thatch: I’m seeing a lot of charges on my credit card from last night… Me: Maybe you should learn to never cancel Skype sex. Thatch: How on Earth did you spend $2000 on Amazon? Me: Books. Thatch: Books? You planning on opening your own library? Me: I’m planning on replacing sex with reading. Thatch: Take it back. Your tits would never speak such blasphemy. Me: They’re mad at you. Thatch: I’ll make it up to them. Tell them I love them and I miss them and I’ll suck on their perfect pink nipples for hours when you get home. Me: Not interested.

IN THE PAST, when dying was typically a more precipitous process, we did not have to think about a question like this. Though some diseases and conditions had a drawn-out natural history—tuberculosis is the classic example—without the intervention of modern medicine, with its scans to diagnose problems early and its treatments to extend life, the interval between recognizing that you had a life-threatening ailment and dying was commonly a matter of days or weeks. Consider how our presidents died before the modern era. George Washington developed a throat infection at home on December 13, 1799, that killed him by the next evening. John Quincy Adams, Millard Fillmore, and Andrew Johnson all succumbed to strokes and died within two days. Rutherford Hayes had a heart attack and died three days later. Others did have a longer course: James Monroe and Andrew Jackson died from progressive and far longer-lasting (and highly dreaded) tubercular consumption. Ulysses Grant’s oral cancer took a year to kill him. But, as end-of-life researcher Joanne Lynn has observed, people generally experienced life-threatening illness the way they experienced bad weather—as something that struck with little warning. And you either got through it or you didn’t.

My Ren & Stimpy reference wasn’t all that funny when written in the center of someone’s CONDOLENCE CARD. “Fucking Leslie,” I spat. “She threw a bunch of cards on my desk and said they were birthday cards.” Dean proceeded to lose his shit, his cackling laughs echoing inside my office. I glared at him. “It’s not that funny.” “Oh, hell yes it is. You referenced Ren & Stimpy on a sympathy card,” he wheezed. Seriously, fuck you, Leslie. Fuck you, hard. I was convinced I could blame her for everything wrong in my life. Lost my keys? Goddammit, Leslie! Missed the subway? Fuck you very much, Leslie. Another awful dick pic sent to my phone? You’re such an asshole, Leslie.

They put me in jail. Holy shit. They put me in fucking jail. Call my mother and tell her I love her, call my father and tell him I can’t loan him any more money, call my grandmother and tell her she needs to stop day drinking. I am never getting out of this. All right, on the plus side, it’s not like I’m sitting in a city jail. It’s a hotel holding room, which basically means beige-colored carpet with beige walls and a beige futon. In Vegas, if they put you in beige, you are seriously fucked. No sequins or rhinestones anywhere means I must have done something abominable. Okay. I take three deep breaths, trying to achieve my zone neutrality. Or something. I don’t know! Okay, keep calm, Julia. Maybe they can help. Maybe they can help piece together whatever insane stuff you did last night. Or rather, the weird shit that your David Tennant personality did. On second thought, maybe talking about Doctor Who would be a very bad thing right now. The door opens, and Gray Suit— his name’s actually Todd, but I’m sticking with Gray Suit— enters and sits down in a chair opposite me. “Now Ms. Stevens—” “I’m not going to prison,” I blurt out. “I’m too soft. I watched Orange is the New Black. I don’t want to eat tampon sandwiches.” Gray Suit blinks slowly. “Okay. I’ll bear that in mind.” “Look, what the hell am I even doing here?” I snap. Great, Julia. Get snippy with the authorities. This’ll go down swimmingly. “What is happening?” Gray Suit sighs. “It’s about what you did last night, Ms. Stevens.

«It's not easy to believe.» «I» she told him, «I can believe anything. You have no idea what I can believe.» «Really?» «I can believe things that are true and I can believe things that aren't true and I can believe things where nobody knows if they're true or not. I can believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and Marilyn Monroe and the Beatles and Elvis and Mister Ed. Listen - I believe that people are perfectible, that knowledge is infinite, that the world is run by secret banking cartels and is visited by aliens on a regular basis, nice ones that look like wrinkledy lemurs and bad ones who mutilate cattle and want our water and our women. I believe that the future sucks and I believe that the future rocks and I believe that one day White Buffalo Woman is going to come back and kick everyone's ass. I believe that all men are just overgrown boys with deep problems communicating and that the decline in good sex in America is coincident with the decline in drive-in movie theaters from state to state. I believe that all politicians are unprincipled crooks and I still believe that they are better than the alternative. I believe that California is going to sink into the sea when the big one comes, while Florida is going to dissolve into madness and alligators and toxic waste. I believe that antibacterial soap is destroying our resistance to dirt and disease so that one day we'll all be wiped out by the common cold like the Martians in "War of the Worlds". I believe that the greatest poets of the last century were Edith Sitwell and Don Marquis, that jade is dried dragon sperm, and that thousands of years ago in a former life I was one-armed Siberian shaman. I believe that mankind's destiny lies in the stars. I believe that candy really did taste better when I was a kid, that it's aerodynamically impossible for a bumblebee to fly, that light is a wave and a particle, that there's a cat in a box somewhere who's alive and dead at the same time (although if they don't ever open the box to feed it it'll eventually just be two different kind of dead), and that there are stars in the universe billions of years older than the universe itself. I believe in a personal god who cares about me and worries and oversees everything I do. I believe in an impersonal god who set the universe in motion and went off to hang with her girlfriends and doesn't even know that I'm alive. I believe in an empty and godless universe of casual chaos, background noise, and sheer blind luck. I believe that anyone who says that sex is overrated just hasn't done it properly. I believe that anyone who claims to know what's going on will lie about the little things too. I believe in absolute honesty and sensible social lies. I believe in a woman's right to choose, a baby's right to live, that while all human life is sacred there's nothing wrong with the death penalty if you can trust the legal system implicitly, and that no one but a moron would ever trust the legal system. I believe that life is a game, that life is a cruel joke, and that life is what happens when you're alive and that you might as well lie back and enjoy it.»

I can believe that things are true and I can believe things that aren’t true and I can believe things where nobody knows if they’re true or not. I can believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and Marilyn Monroe and the Beatles and Elvis and Mister Ed. Listen – I believe that people are perfectible, that knowledge is infinite, that the world is run by secret banking cartels and is visited by aliens on a regular basis, nice ones that look like wrinkledy lemurs and bad ones who mutilate cattle and want our water and our women. I believe that the future sucks and I believe that future rocks and I believe that one day White Buffalo Woman is going to come back and kick everyone’s ass. I believe that all men are just overgrown boys with deep problems communicating and that the decline in good sex in America is coincident with the decline in drive-in movie theaters from state to state. I believe that all politicians are unprincipled crooks and I still believe that they are better than the alternative. I believe that California is going to sink into the sea when the big one comes, while Florida is going to dissolve into madness and alligators and toxic waste. I believe that antibacterial soap is destroying our resistance to dirt and disease so that one day we’ll all be wiped out by the common cold like the Martians in War of the Worlds. I believe that the greatest poets of the last century were Edith Sitwell and Don Marquis, that jade is dried dragon sperm, and that thousands of years ago in a former life I was a one-armed Siberian shaman. I believe that mankind’s destiny lies in the stars. I believe that candy really did taste better when I was a kid, that it’s aerodynamically impossible for a bumblebee to fly, that light is a wave and a particle, that there’s a cat in a box somewhere who’s alive and dead at the same time (although if they don’t ever open the box to feed it it’ll eventually just be two different kinds of dead), and that there are stars in the universe billions of years older than the universe itself. I believe in a personal god who cares about me and worries and oversees everything I do. I believe in an impersonal god who set the universe in motion and went off to hang with her girlfriends and doesn’t even know that I’m alive. I believe in an empty and godless universe of casual chaos, background noise, and sheer blind luck. I believe that anyone who says that sex is overrated just hasn’t done it properly. I believe that anyone claims to know what’s going on will lie about the little things too. I believe in absolute honesty and sensible social lies. I believe in a woman’s right to choose, a baby’s right to live, that while all human life is sacred there’s nothing wrong with the death penalty if you can trust the legal system implicitly, and that no one but a moron would ever trust the legal system. I believe life is a game, that life is a cruel joke, and that life is what happens when you’re alive and that you might as well lie back and enjoy it.

I," she told him, "can believe anything. You have no idea what I can believe." "Really?" "I can believe things that are true and I can believe things that aren't true and I can believe things where nobody knows if they're true or not. I can believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and Marilyn Monroe and the Beatles and Elvis and Mister Ed. Listen - I believe that people are perfectible, that knowledge is infinite, that the world is run by secret banking cartels and is visited by aliens on a regular basis, nice ones that look like wrinkledy lemurs and bad ones who mutilate cattle and want our water and our women. I believe that the future sucks and I believe that the future rocks and I believe that one day White Buffalo Woman is going to come back and kick everyone's ass. I believe that all men are just overgrown boys with deep problems communicating and that the decline in good sex in America is coincident with the decline in drive-in movie theatres from state to state. I believe that all politicians are unprincipled crooks and I still believe that they are better than the alternative. I believe that California is going to sink into the sea when the big one comes, while Florida is going to dissolve into madness and alligators and toxic waste. I believe that antibacterial soap is destroying our resistance to dirt and disease so that one day we'll all be wiped out by the common cold like the Martians in War of the Worlds. I believe that the greatest poets of the last century were Edith Sitwell and Don Marquis, that jade is dried dragon sperm, and that thousands of years ago in a former life I was a one-armed Siberian shaman. I believe that mankind's destiny lies in the stars. I believe that candy really did taste better when I was a kid, that it's aerodynamically impossible for a bumblebee to fly, that light is a wave and a particle, that there's a cat in a box somewhere who's alive and dead at the same time (although if they don't ever open the box to feed it it'll eventually just be two different kinds of dead), and that there are stars in this universe billions of years older than the universe itself. I believe in a personal god who cares about me and worries and oversees everything I do. I believe in an impersonal god who set the universe in motion and went off to hang with her girlfriends and doesn't even know that I'm alive. I believe in an empty and godless universe of casual chaos, background noise and sheer blind luck. I believe that anyone who says that sex is overrated just hasn't done it properly. I believe that anyone who claims to know what's going on will lie about the little things too. I believe in absolute honesty and sensible social lies. I believe in a woman's right to choose, a baby's right to live, that while all human life is sacred there's nothing wrong with the death penalty if you can trust the legal system implicitly, and that no one but a moron would ever trust the legal system. I believe that life is a game, life is a cruel joke and that life is what happens when you're alive and that you might as well lie back and enjoy it." She stopped, out of breath. Shadow almost took his hands off the wheel to applaud.

About the time Phil set out to film the first Duckmen of Louisiana video in 1987, there had been a really bad ice storm in West Monroe, which was kind of rare. It was so cold that a lot of the water on our property froze, so there was nowhere for the ducks to go. We climbed into our trucks and headed south to find the ducks. When we arrived at Lake Maurepas in South Louisiana, our guide took us to a hunting camp that was located about eight miles into the swamp. As we made our way to the camp near sunset, there were so many ducks flying overhead that duck feces started hitting the boat like it was a hailstorm--that’s what we call a poop storm! The sound of all those ducks was like a roar. The ice storm had pushed all the ducks south. It was the most ducks I’d ever seen. The next morning, we called in a group of about three thousand ducks! They funneled into our decoys like a cyclone. It took them over thirty minutes to land. Hundreds of ducks landed in front of us and swam to the edge of our hole, and then more would land in the vacated areas. We sat in stunned silence during the entire event. Finally, Phil whispered to us to be careful because we might kill more ducks than we needed with stray shot, since there were so many of them and they were so close together. My dad thought he saw a rare duck and without warning broke the silence with a gun blast. The roar of the ducks getting up was deafening. We only shot once per hunter and had our limit. It would have never happened if we hadn’t been completely concealed in our blind. It was one of the most amazing sights I’ve ever seen.

sculpting is really a long series of decisions. When you make good ones, you have a product you like. When you make a bad one, you toss it and start again. And there are always lots of bad decisions. But the good ones are worth waiting for.

I laugh and pull out the PB&J donut I got for myself, eager to dig in. The sweet raspberry filling oozes out down my chin and I have to lick it to keep it from dripping onto my shirt. Then the donut is plucked from my hand. “Hey, I’m—” is as far as I get before Zach is kissing me. Or, more accurately, tasting me. Maybe even devouring me. “You had …” he says in between kisses to the corner of my mouth. “… some …” Lick. “… jam …” Kiss. “… right …” Lick. “… here.” Oh God. This man. Could he be any sexier? And then he’s kissing me in earnest, the experience all the sweeter thanks to the donuts. And how good he is at kissing. He pulls me down onto the couch with him and we’re nearly horizontal. Which is so not a bad thing. His fingers twine in my hair and I sigh with happiness.

Come on, Whitney,” Thatch called as my advance finally got his attention. “We don’t have time to wait for your pedicure to dry.

And I’m getting all the fudging drugs they will allow me to have. All of them. I want them to numb me from the neck down. I have no desire to feel this child shoot out of my vagina. I mean, have you seen the size of my husband? He’s huge. And I’m not just talking about his giant schlong. I mean, big hands, big feet, big fluffing head.” She pointed to her belly as evidence. “Look at me! No one should be this big at twenty-some-odd weeks pregnant with their first baby. If the size of my belly is any indication, the fudging doctor is going to need bridge cables to suture up the hole.

Three a.m. “God, sweetheart,” I said as I sat halfway up and rubbed at my eyes. “You’re just getting back?” She dropped her shoes to the floor and pulled her dress directly over her head, and I decided it was time to stop talking. There’d be plenty of time for questions later, when she wasn’t stripping her clothes off and crawling toward me and—goddamn—she was drunk. Sweet merciful heaven, drunk sex with Winnie Winslow was going to be amazing.

You think you can’t feel your dick now, but you definitely won’t be able to when I cut it off your body,” Cassie retorted.

I only do the work for pregnancies I create, and I had not one moment of fun or involvement in the creation of that little hellion.

Leaning down, Cassie reached into the car, and I caught a glimpse of heaven—or the top swells of her sweet breasts. To me, the two were interchangeable, both mystical wonders created for good little boys by God himself.

Really? You’re doing the work yourself?” If she had been a dog, I imagined her ears would have perked up. I smiled and nodded. “Really. I had an electrician work on the wiring and Thatch and Wes have helped me a couple of times with the heavy lifting, but I’ve done most of it myself.” She slammed an open hand down on my thigh and squeezed, her expression deadpan. “I think I just orgasmed.” I shoved the gearshift into park and reached for her neck at the same time. I rubbed my nose with hers and smiled before touching my lips to hers just once. “Please, Benny. For the love of all that’s holy, hold on to that thought—and the easy trigger.

With great penis comes great responsibility, honey.

Nooooo, you’re not. You’re a Wheorgiebag, but even that isn’t a real whore. Whores have excessively loose vaginas. I’m talking big enough to store all of their whoring money, and yours has never even been open for business. Probably couldn’t even fit a nickel.

I loved my job. I loved working at my job, once I managed to get my “never on time” ass there. It was that whole getting out of bed thing that caused me the most grief. Morning person, I was not. My body preferred to wake up on its own time. Therefore, my snooze button was ridden hard and put away extremely wet.

The day I was willing to subject myself to that kind of pussy was the day my cock would rot off and my office would burn straight to the ground. I was sure of it.

Where the hell have you been hiding that one?” “Don’t say another word,” I warned, just as the door shut blessedly behind Leslie. “Fuck me hard, fast, and dirty, Kline-hole. Did you see the tits on her? Seriously, let her know she can swaddle me up and ride me like a cockpuppet any fucking time she wants.” I picked up a pen and pretended to scribble on a piece of paper. “Ride…you…like…a…cockpuppet. Got it.

Ah, yes, the struggles of an attractive gay man.” “They’re like wolves, Georgia! One innocent cherub like me in the club and they swarm like bees.” “Wait. I’m confused. Are they wolves or bees?” I teased as he pushed the button for the elevator. “Shut your crimson lip-stain-covered trap!” Perfect.

She had a point. My vagina was sealed tighter than Fort Knox. A proverbial “do not pass go” zone for all cockbandits begging entry.

You’re doing it again,” Cassie interrupted my thoughts. I tilted my head, confused. “What am I doing?” “You’re doing that ‘this is why I’m still a virgin’ inner monologue thing. Do I need to turn on the fireplace for a bra-burning ritual? Or should we throw out the razors and let our pit hair run rampant?

81°F-83°F 28°C

I’m not lying,” I said, fighting a smile. Dean pointed to my mouth. “Says the girl who’s notorious for smiling or giggling nervously whenever she’s lying.” Shit. I covered my mouth. “Honey, you are too much,” he teased, placing his hand at the small of my back. “Now, let’s get your lying ass inside that deli so I can fight the starvation that’s threatening to take place.

I’ve got two investor meetings in L.A.—” “And you want me to be there.” “Yeah.” He sat back in his leather chair and crossed his thick arms. “Done.” “You don’t even know when they are,” I pointed out. I reached forward and took hold of my mouse to double-check the timing, but he didn’t wait. “For you, my love, no time is a bad time.” He blew me a kiss. “Why do I put up with you?” I asked, sitting back again and raking a hand through my hair. His response was immediate. “I personally think it’s because you like a reminder of the fine male specimen you’ll never live up to.” I shook my head and smirked, knowing I’d never be the six-foot-five monster he was and not struggling to swallow it even one little bit. My leaner but no less toned six-foot package hadn’t failed me yet. “I’ll see you in L.A. tomorrow night, Adonis.” “No way. I’ll see you here, at the airport, so you can hold my hand during—” Raising my middle finger in salute, I clicked the button to end the call.

He smirked, standing up and snatching the card out of my incompetent hands. “Let’s just throw this card out. I’ll have Meryl send flowers to Mary’s house from everyone in the office.” I let out a breath of relief. “I’m in full support of this plan. I’ll even chip in fifty bucks.” “Perfect.” “Hey, you’re throwing that card out, right?” I asked before he made his way out of my office doors. He only responded with a shrug and a few more cackles. Dean was such a bitch. If I didn’t love him so much, I’d have definitely disowned his designer-tag-wearing ass.

Beautiful?!” I shrieked, slamming the door to my apartment behind me. The walls shook from the undeserved abuse. “For fuck’s sake, all it takes is one guy—who’s never even been on your let’s get naked together radar—to call you beautiful and you’re acting like some desperate hussy! Really? Really? That’s all it takes?” I dropped my purse to the floor and kicked off my heels. “Where is your pride, you stupid hussy! Where is your fucking pride?

I was focused on getting shut-eye, confident that sleep and I would spoon the fuck out of each other until the sun rose the following morning. I channeled Buddha for my inner Zen, humming my way toward unconscious bliss. It was either that, or grab my vibrator and participate in a ménage à moi.

Still. “Fuck.” “Good morning, Mr. Brooks,” she greeted as soon as I rounded the corner, the last syllable of my name trailing straight into a giggle. God, that’s painful. Her eyes were bright, lips pouty, and her forearms squeezed into her breasts. Her black hair teased and sprayed, several curls rolled over her shoulders and hung nearly all the way down to her pointy nails. And she eye fucked me relentlessly, pounding me harder with every step I took.