Nutcase Quotes

I'll just ask now: What is it about my persona that draws every insane, power-hungry nutcase to me like a magnet?

You forgot the ‘my precious,’” Anna said dryly. “If you want to act like a freaking nutcase, you have to do it right.

Please, please be some sex-starved nutcase who wants to kidnap me and make me your love slave, I begged silently.

Pain fades,” I said slowly. “But being a nutcase seems to stick around. Guess who got the better deal here?” The last thing I remember is Mr. Chu’s face blazing with fury.

A tightness in my chest came out of nowhere. As I listened to Amanda reassure my brother, I wanted to pull her into my arms and cry. How damn crazy was that? This girl was making me a nutcase.

People look at a chair and say, “It’s just a chair,” but I like to think it’s more than a chair. I like to seek deeper meaning in things, even inanimate things. I know this makes me sound like a complete nutcase, but (a) I swear I’m not, and (b) it’s just an example.

Aye,’ McCann said ruefully, ‘if yer rich yer just eccentric; if yer poor yer a nutcase an they stick ye in the bin.

You’d be surprised. Look, most Republicans are decent men who simply have a view of the world that is different from ours. But there is a hard core of fucking nutcases.

I told you. There’s nothing heroic here, nothing for the writer’s pen. I had thoughts like, It’s not wartime, why should I have to risk myself while someone else is sleeping with my wife? Why me again, and not him? To be honest, I didn’t see any heroes there. I saw nutcases, who didn’t care about their own lives, and I had enough craziness myself, but it wasn’t necessary. I also have medals and awards—but that’s because I wasn’t afraid of dying. I didn’t care! It was even something of an out. They’d have buried me with honors. And the government would have paid for it.

The only funny part about Colonial Dunsboro is maybe it's too authentic, but for all the wrong reasons. This whole crowd of losers and nutcases who hide out here because they can't make it in the real world, in real jobs — isn't this why we left England in the first place? To establish our own alternate reality. Weren't the Pilgrims pretty much the crackpots of their time? For sure, instead of just wanting to believe something different about God's love, the losers I work with want to find salvation through compulsive behaviors.

As long as we're tied to Middle Eastern oil we're tied to Middle Eastern politics. We're hostages to the terrorists and nutcases who want to wipe out Israel and the United States because we support Israel.

A brain constructs a model of reality. If that model isn’t too different from most people’s model, you’re labeled sane. If the model is different, you’re labeled a genius, a misfit, a visionary, or a nutcase. In extreme cases, you’re labeled a schizophrenic and locked up.

it’s a terrible feeling when you first fall in love. your mind gets completely taken over, you can’t function properly anymore. the world turns into a dream place, nothing seems real. you forget your keys, no one seems to be talking English and even if they are you don’t care as you can’t hear what they’re saying anyway, and it doesn’t matter since your not really there. things you cared about before don’t seem to matter anymore and things you didn’t think you cared about suddenly do. I must become a brilliant cook, I don’t want to waste time seeing my friends when I could be with him, I feel no sympathy for all those people in India killed by an earthquake last night; what is the matter with me? It’s a kind of hell, but you feel like your in heaven. even your body goes out of control, you can’t eat, you don’t sleep properly, your legs turn to jelly as your not sure where the floor is anymore. you have butterflies permanently, not only in your tummy but all over your body - your hands, your shoulders, your chest, your eyes everything’s just a jangling mess of nerve endings tingling with fire. it makes you feel so alive. and yet its like being suffocated, you don’t seem to be able to see or hear anything real anymore, its like people are speaking to you through treacle, and so you stay in your cosy place with him, the place that only you two understand. occasionally your forced to come up for air by your biggest enemy, Real Life, so you do the minimum then head back down under your love blanket for more, knowing it’s uncomfortable but compulsory. and then, once you think you’ve got him, the panic sets in. what if he goes off me? what if I blow it, say the wrong thing? what if he meets someone better than me? Prettier, thinner, funnier, more like him? who doesn’t bite there nails? perhaps he doesn’t feel the same, maybe this is all in my head and this is just a quick fling for him. why did I tell him that stupid story about not owning up that I knew who spilt the ink on the teachers bag and so everyone was punished for it? does he think I'm a liar? what if I'm not very good at that blow job thing and he’s just being patient with me? he says he loves me; yes, well, we can all say words, can’t we? perhaps he’s just being polite. of course you do your best to keep all this to yourself, you don’t want him to think you're a neurotic nutcase, but now when he’s away doing Real Life it’s agony, your mind won’t leave you alone, it tortures you and examines your every moment spent together, pointing out how stupid you’ve been to allow yourself to get this carried away, how insane you are to imagine someone would feel like that about you. dad did his best to reassure me, but nothing he said made a difference - it was like I wanted to see Simon, but didn’t want him to see me.

If by now you are thinking of me as a nutcase, it’ll somewhat redeem me from being middle-of-the-road, which after all is what we’re all about. Not being so-so. Not being fair-to-middling. Not being run-of-the-mill

So what you're left with is: either Christ was who He said He was—the Messiah—or a complete nutcase. I mean, we're talking nutcase on the level of Charles Manson. - Bono on whether Jesus was Son of God was far-fetched.

What the hell was that?” one of them asked. “Jackal,” Irene stated quietly while watching city streets turn to suburb. They weren’t taking her to a main airport but a small airstrip. One built exclusively for private planes. “Did she just call us jackals?” one of them joked. Irene grinned which wiped the smile off the man’s face. “No. I said the howl you heard was jackal.” She looked at Jenny. “They’ll be coming for you.” Jenny glanced at the men and back at her. She looked terribly concerned she had a lunatic in the car with her. “The jackals will be coming for me?” “No. The wolves.” Jenny sighed. “Why oh why do I always get the nutcases?” “Oh!” Irene pointed excitedly. “See that spot up there?” “What about it?” “That’s where it all started. Where I crossed the Rubicon.” Exasperated, Jenny snarled, “What the fuck are you talking about?” “It’s feeding time,” Irene whispered. “That’s it.” Jenny threw up her hands. “We’re so medicating her.

...and yet again, I was beginning the long process of coming undone in the hundred vestibules of my own soul. Breakdowns were common to me by then, and I attributed them to that sour Irish gene. But I could cast plenty of blame on my washed in the blood of the lamb Southern roots also. Taken together, it looked like a wicked combination of destinies, Irish and Southern, forming a comfortable birthplace for lunatics, nutcases, borderlines, and psychos. I could not blame everything on a bar fight in Galway when I also had these smoldering fires of white lightning smoking in a copper coil...

Just to say evil Islamics did it, that's so lame, and we know it. We see those official close-ups on the screen. The shifty liar's look, the twelve-stepper's gleam in the eye. One look at these faces and we know they're guilty of the worst crimes we can imagine. But who's in any hurry to imagine? To make the awful connection? Any more than Germans were back in 1933, when Nazis torched Reichstag within a month of Hitler becoming chancellor. Which of course is not to suggest that Bush and his people have actually gone out and staged the events of 11 September. It would take a mind hopelessly diseased with paranoia, indeed a screamingly anti-American nutcase, even to allow to cross her mind the possibility that that terrible day would have deliberately been engineered as a pretext to impose some endless Orwellian 'war' and the emergency decrees we will soon be living under. Nah, nah, perish that thought. "But there's still always the other thing. Our yearning. Our deep need for it to be true. Somewhere, down at some shameful dark recess of the national soul, we need to feel betrayed, even guilty. As if it was us who created Bush and his gang, Cheney and Rove and Rumsfeld and Feith and the rest of them--we who called down the sacred lightning of 'democracy' and then the fascist majority on the Supreme Court threw the switches, and Bush rose from the slab and began his rampage. And whatever happened then is on our ticket.

only nutcases want to be president.

You never know with nutcases.

Evil is tough to override, because it’s ingrained in the soul. Nutcases,

I might as well clinch my reputation as a world-class nutcase by saying something good about Karl Marx, commonly believed in this country, and surely in Indian-no-place, to have been one of the most evil people who ever lived. He did invent Communism, which we have long been taught to hate, because we are so in love with Capitalism, which is what we call the casinos on Wall Street.

A good storyteller minces words to entertain or inspire the audience. The politicians and religious leaders do much the same, but for a different purpose - to turn otherwise normal people to nutcases.

Hot guys. Guys who make girls drool. Guys who warrant attention and jealousy. And since we’re on the topic, if you ever see me in public, act like you don’t know me.” “You’re a nutcase.” “Just go right past me.” I brushed my hands against each other, going the opposite direction. “Like two passing buses in the night.” “The phrase is two passing ships in the night, and no. I’m not a complete asshole. If I see you in public, I reserve my right to come over and piss you off. I’m starting to get enjoyment from this on the daily.” “No.” I almost gasped. “Daily?” “Daily,” he drawled.

Oh! I see it!’ I say. ‘I’m sitting, yes, I’m definitely sitting down on a chair with, let’s see, with my dad in front of me, who’s suddenly developed symptoms of Nutcase Syndrome, and… oh wait, that’s the here and now.’ I’m about to push his hands away from me. ‘I’m starting to think it’s you who needs to go to the hos-

You've been a thief of nuts. No wonder you turned into one." ~ Angelica Hopes, If I Could Tell You

I’ve just found out I’m allergic to nut-cases

The police think I’m a rubbernecker. They think I’m a stalker, a nut-case, mentally unstable.

More muslims die from Islamist extremism than any other people. So don't you dare tell me, Islam is the same as Islamism! Islam is a people, Islamism is a sickness, just like Christianity is a people, Christian nationalism is a sickness - Hinduism is a people, Hindutva is a sickness - Atheism is a people, militant atheism is a sickness. And unless the peaceloving humans from each of these communities reach out to one another with a hand of integration, the nutcases from each of these communities will drag us all down the road of death and despair.

This brings us to the crux moment in the supposed 'Show Trial' melodrama. Employing the confusing and confused testimony of Jude Wanniski (who he also describes as a political nut-case, if not a nut-case flat-out, and to whom he introduced me in the first place) Blumenthal suggests that I concerted my testimony in advance with the House Republicans, notably James Rogan and Lindsey Graham. Feebly bridging the gap between sheer conjecture and outright conspiracy, Rogan is quoted as saying: 'Hitchens may well have called Lindsey..' I did not in fact do any such thing. Why should my denial be believed? It's not as if I care. I probably should have colluded with them, if my intention was to land a blow on Clinton (which it was) let alone to plant a Judas kiss on Blumenthal (which it was not). But every other fragment of Blumenthal's evidence and description shows—even boasts—that Congressman Graham was essentially punching air until the last day of the trial. That could not possibly have been true, especially in his cross-examination of Blumenthal, if he knew he had an ace in his vest-pocket all along. Only a tendency to paranoia or to all-explaining theories could suggest the contrary. I'd even be able to claim for myself, I hope, that if I'd truly wanted to gouge a deep or vengeful wound I could or would have made a better job of it.

Live free or die,” he muttered, and it suddenly occurred to him that for the first time in his life, he was actually, totally free. Alex was a product of the public school system, and since childhood he’d been taught that America was a free country. The older he grew, however, the more he realized that American freedom was an idea more than it was an actuality. He had the right to bear arms, but only if the government let him. He had the right to protest, but only with a permit and in designated areas—even his freedom of speech was subject to the will of the courts. Small things like going camping, fishing or walking down the street with a beer were subject to constant government meddling. He wasn’t a right wing nutcase, he could entertain the notion that some restrictions were a necessary evil brought about by an increasingly complex society and a growing population, but that didn’t mean he liked it, or that he didn’t resent the lie. “Regulate this,” he said, hefting his rifle.

This is an enormous claim, but there is a certain logic to it. One of the most recent people to note this logic is Bono, the lead singer of U2, in a conversation with Michka Assayas: Assayas: Christ has his rank among the world’s great thinkers. But Son of God, isn’t that far-fetched? Bono: No, it’s not far-fetched to me. Look, the secular response to the Christ story always goes like this: He was a great prophet, obviously a very interesting guy, had a lot to say along the lines of other great prophets, be they Elijah, Muhammad, Buddha, or Confucius. But actually Christ doesn’t allow you that. He doesn’t let you off that hook. Christ says, No. I’m not saying I’m a teacher, don’t call me teacher. I’m not saying I’m a prophet. I’m saying: ‘I’m the Messiah.’ I’m saying: ‘I am God incarnate.’ And people say: No, no, please, just be a prophet. A prophet we can take. You’re a bit eccentric. We’ve had John the Baptist eating locusts and wild honey, we can handle that. But don’t mention the ‘M’ word! Because, you know, we’re gonna have to crucify you. And he goes: No, no, I know you’re expecting me to come back with an army and set you free from these creeps, but actually I am the Messiah. At this point, everyone starts staring at their shoes, and says: Oh, my God, he’s gonna keep saying this. So what you’re left with is either Christ was who He said He was – the Messiah – or a complete nutcase. I mean, we’re talking nutcase on the level of Charles Manson. . . . I’m not joking here. The idea that the entire course of civilisation for over half of the globe could have its fate changed and turned upside-down by a nutcase, for me that’s far-fetched . . . Bono is describing how Jesus’ statements about himself force us all into an all-or-nothing choice.

No, Bigfoot . . . no, you know what I think you really are? Is you’re the LAPD’s own Charlie Manson. You’re the screamin evil nutcase right at the heart of that li’l cop kingdom, that nothin and nobody can reach, and God help ’em if you wake up someday in a mood to bring it all down, ’cause then it’ll be run copper run, and when the gunsmoke clears, there’ll be songbirds building their nests in all the empty corners of the Glass House. Plus broken glass and shit

I don’t want to talk about it!” “Fin!” he shouted back. “I’ll do the talking. I love you, and by damn I’m not ashamed of it, and you may not have as much baggage as I do, but don’t pretend you don’t have some with all those losers you attached yourself to.” “Only two!” “And only two for me, so we’re even!” “Not even close!” They were fifteen feet apart and she was still screaming. “My two were self-centered assholes! Yours were homicidal nutcases!” “Kenley wasn’t homicidal!” “Close enough. And all I did after my breakups was watch Big Bang reruns and gain five pounds! That’s not the same as doing penance for the rest of your life.”

Kevin Josten, is now preaching in his mega-church in Dallas, Texas. His message is about prosperity gospel; you know, if you dream it, God will give it. It’ll be more like, you give Josten lots of money and he’ll be rich beyond all of his wildest dreams. The second, Ryan Whittier, will set himself up to be the Preacher to the Politicians, and he’s in California. Someday, he wants to be seen as the go-to guy for politicians to find out what God says about this or that. The third is Mark Goat. With my help, he plans on setting up a television network that will air vaguely Christian messages from prosperity gospel preachers, messages from the occasional Fundamentalist nutcases, and even the out there End Times preachers. Our plan is to confuse those uneducated about what the Christian message really is. Heck, Goat and Whittier want to join Christians with Muslims, get the uneducated types thinking that the barbarians in the Middle East actually believe the same thing as real Christians. They call it Chrislam. We sow chaos in the Bible Belt and we can rule America the way we want,

The third is Mark Goat. With my help, he plans on setting up a television network that will air vaguely Christian messages from prosperity gospel preachers, messages from the occasional Fundamentalist nutcases, and even the out there End Times preachers. Our plan is to confuse those uneducated about what the Christian message really is. Heck, Goat and Whittier want to join Christians with Muslims, get the uneducated types thinking that the barbarians in the Middle East actually believe the same thing as real Christians. They call it Chrislam. We sow chaos in the Bible Belt and we can rule America the way we want,

I can control my nutcases, but you can’t control yours, he said.

years. “How sophisticated is your security here? To keep the wrong people out of the building?” “It’s probably not tight enough,” she admitted, “but we’ve never had a problem.” “That’s the trouble in security. You don’t have a problem until you have a problem and then it’s too late. With all the crime that happens in Paris, and the trouble in Europe these days, it sounds like you need a better system and procedures. You have a lot of people working here. You need to protect against a hostage situation run by some nutcase. I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately, and your systems at home. What you have relies more on humans than on technology. Sometimes technology is more reliable. I want to give you some suggestions, but I haven’t had time to work on it. We’ve been a little crazy at the office.” She knew he wouldn’t tell her why, so she didn’t ask.

Obviously, I have terrible taste in women—two cheaters and a nutcase.

This guy was some kind of nutcase.

Is a nutcase nuts? We always need to understand the situation, before blaming the contents.

She was the only person in the whole fucking world who liked to bathe in his dominating power, the nutcase.

You, douche bags! Do not blame God. As a thumb rule, know that all evil thoughts are your own. And all good thoughts are God’s own. Own up, you, nutcases!

My mind was backpedalling from its confession. A stupid mistake, a blip. A secret I’d thought to take to my grave. He’d think I was a nutcase at best. At worst, a hysterical drama queen he was about to escort back to the lift and press the Down button. “Matthew,” he repeated fervently, and put out a gentle hand to my face. He brushed his thumb across my lips. “Thank God it didn’t work. Thank God.

Let me tell you a couple of things while we’re walking. By the time we get to the café, if you think I’m a creep or a nutcase, just tell me, and I’ll simply buy you a coffee and be on my way. But if you don’t think I’m a creep or a nutcase, then we’re going to have a very serious conversation that could take hours. Do you have dinner plans?

Sonnet of Grammar Grammar, Oh Grammar, Whatever you are, Go away and bother, The intellectual scholar. I ain't no intellectual, Nor am I a scholar, So bother me not, With your snobbish affair. My words come from the soil, My structure is born on the street. I didn't even graduate college, What do I know about literary creed! Time has come for me to put you in place. Be an aid to discourse, not an uptight nutcase!

A certified, bona fide nutcase': Although he was indeed someone, he believed that he was more of a nut than a man. He just needed somebody to break him, to make him lovelier, but that somebody had to be even nuttier.

If taking a stand makes you a nutcase, be the nuttiest case that has ever walked.

Break Destiny (The Sonnet) Be the one to make and break destiny, For all powers of universe are in you. Be the one to make and break paradigm, For the very source of creation is you. Cowards and vegetables talk of fate, While the valiant is up and working. Those who can't do mock the doer, Yet there's no progress without a dingaling. If taking a stand makes you a nutcase, Be the nuttiest case that has ever walked. But never you compromise with insanity, Even if it is endorsed by the whole world. You are the defender of all society. Even in hardship never forget your duty.

was an environment designed to reassure nutcases, she thought wryly.

For some reason, the most vocal Christians among us never mention the Beatitudes. But, often with tears in their eyes, they demand that the Ten Commandments be posted in public buildings. And of course that’s Moses, not Jesus. I haven’t heard one of them demand that the Sermon on the Mount, the Beatitudes, be posted anywhere. “Blessed are the merciful” in a courtroom? “Blessed are the peacemakers” in the Pentagon? Give me a break! Only kidding, but seriously: there is a tragic flaw in our precious Constitution, and I don’t know what can be done to fix it. This is it: only nutcases want to be president.

As I stare at the White Mansion and I know what parts of it look like inside—and I know there’s no way I could know those things—I wonder if I’m a serious nutcase. If none of this is happening, because I’m really locked up in a padded cell somewhere, hallucinating. If so, I hope they change my drugs soon. Whatever I’m on isn’t working.

Look, most Republicans are decent men who simply have a view of the world that is different from ours. But there is a hard core of fucking nutcases.

That, and one last detail. Recommend Taylor undergo a three month psychiatric evaluation following his discharge.” “What for?” “Credibility. Years from now, when he decides to write a book slamming the Navy, I want to make sure the world knows that Jonas Taylor was deemed a nutcase by the medical establishment.

What kind of a nutcase stabs a person and doesn’t remember doing it?” “The kind who thinks they are going to die?” A pause. Then, “Yes, okay. That makes sense, I guess.

Padre, don’t blame me. You have your shrink’s office in a church’s sanctuary and deal with nutcases every day.  You and he should be used to the languages by now.

Not that there were many people around. Except for nutcases who ran first thing on weekend mornings even when it was raining. I mean, who does that? Sleep the fuck in and procrastinate like a normal person.

This guy’s a nut-case!’ I muttered to Prabaker. ‘Driving is not so good,’ Prabaker replied, bracing himself with both arms against the back of the driver’s seat. ‘But I have to say, the spitting and insulting is a first-class job.

The Mad People In the electronic age every nutcase with a laptop is writing a masterpiece. They spend their nights locked up in chat rooms and emerge with red eyes and love poems.

The man’s posture said it all. God help the person dumb enough to ever lay a finger on Savannah Dubrinsky. Johnson had been worried about some San Francisco nutcase trying to get to the famous magician while she was in town, but now that he had met her husband, he figured anyone trying to touch her would have to be suicidal. He

Marcie, I won’t let you do this!” Erin insisted. “It’s primitive! He’s primitive! He looks like a total nutcase. A wild man.” “He’s actually very docile. Kind.” “There

Now he'd no longer reside on the verge and brink of scorn being perceived as an eccentric nutcase. His transcendence into immortality was just about to begin. His legacy on the brink of realization. His work would live forever unlike his mortal flesh and decaying human body.

He’d gone broody & quiet, as if considering something major. Then boom—Good-bye Broody Brady, hello Lovesick Nutcase.

You'll notice that I said guidelines and not rules. Guidelines allow for some flexibility, some discretion. Rules are more likely to be enforced in a hard and fast manner, which can leave little room for interpretation and will probably lead to you having to deal with more nutcases who insist on reading them fifty times backward and forward in hopes of finding an angle where they think you are being inconsistent. Your user guidelines are a key communication tool for you. They are a type of vision statement for your community. By putting your expectations of users in writing, you are letting everyone know what your vision is for your community. By communicating this, people will know what they are in for and will either get behind you (and participate) or get away from you. Either way, they will at least know what your community is all about, and having this level of communication is vital to your success.

The nutcase would not be wider.

You’d be surprised. Look, most Republicans are decent men who simply have a view of the world that is different from ours. But there is a hard core of fucking nutcases.” Woody was startled. His father rarely swore. “The types who planned an insurrection against Roosevelt in the thirties,” Gus went on. “Businessmen like Henry Ford, who thought Hitler was a good strong anti-Communist leader. They sign up for right-wing groups such as America First.

You got to die for 'It'. Or you'll remain a religious nutcase. In other words, a dickhead, nitwit.

You’re superstitious?” His rough voice echoes above our heads, so he leans in closer and says, “I didn’t really see that coming.” “I’m usually not, but I guess that got ingrained. Everyone in my circle knows not to say that inside a theater.” “Bad luck, I take it?” he asks. I nod and he observes the place one more time before following me out. “Not to be insensitive to our surroundings or anything, but I think bad luck’s already done its business here.” “Old habits…blow up in your face.” I adjust my ponytail and try to concentrate on what’s around us, but from the corner of my eyes I see Darren bite his lip. I’m not sure if he finds this new information about me endearing or insane. He follows me quietly for a few minutes before speaking again. “So theater, huh? Not sure I saw that one coming either.” “Why?” My cheeks are warm, but I keep in front of him and look anywhere but his direction. “The theater kids back at my high school were…a lot different than you.” I laugh a little louder than necessary. “There are definitely some characters in drama club. As far as style or individuality goes, I’m not much of a standout at school.” “You would have stood out to me.” “I don’t need any tall-girl jokes from you, thanks.” He shrugs. “That’s not what I meant.” Must. Look. Away. What else can I take a picture of? I point the camera to my feet and snap a few. “You’re taking pictures of your feet?” His tone is equal parts curious and amused. “Oh yeah,” I say, turning the camera on his sneakers. “I’ll call it, ‘Standing in Pompeii.’” “How original.” Great. I’ve just made myself a certifiable nutcase.

It was one of the biggest mansions in Washington, D.C., and it was appropriately called Mysterioso Manor. Emerson Knight, the resident owner, was appropriately known as a nutcase.

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

Auditors are to the world of finance what anti-doping lab technicians are to the Tour de France; they both test thousands of random samples each year and find nothing wrong.

called in sick that day. When the nutcase

As I slammed it shut behind me, I heard his voice. “Talk about psycho! She’s a nutcase!

Look, most Republicans are decent men who simply have a view of the world that is different from ours. But there is a hard core of fucking nutcases

Every religious nut must have his or her say, condemning the infidels to hell, every which way. But then so should those opposing them, lampooning these nutcases as they choose, or as they may.

I often wonder, how come fundamentalists of every religion have nutcases akin themselves as their god?

persona that draws every insane, power-hungry nutcase to me like a magnet?

I don’t even know him. What if he’s weird? Maybe he eats people or is one of those nutcases that eats pasta with no sauce. Just buttery recklessness.

I read a book once by a lunatic who claimed that the world wasn’t made by some god; it started off empty and stuff just gradually grew,like lichen on a rock. To begin with there was just moss,and then the moss turned into plants,the plants turned into fish and birds,the fish and birds turned into lizards,the lizards turned into monkeys and the monkeys turned into people. All this happened,the nutcase said,because in each generation there’d be smarter moss,more ruthless plants,more self-centered and arrogant fish,birds,lizards and monkeys who outperformed their wretched fellows and aspired to change. They were the ones who got the girls, so their progeny survived while the losers perished. Arrogance,selfishness and a total disregard for others is,therefore, what turned moss into men.