Being The Survivor Stinks.

At This Moment, The Story In His Head Was Perfect. He Also Knew From Experience That It Would Degenerate The Second He Started Typing, Because Such Was The Nature Of Writing.

I Just Think I'm Better Equipped To Make A Study Of Human Personality Than Trying To Get Into The Mind Of Animals.

He Stares At Me, And Then Leans Back In His Chair. "he's Ill, Jacob." I Say Nothing. "he's A Paragon Schnitzophonic." "he's What?!" "paragon Schnitzophonic," Repeats Uncle Al. "you Mean Paranoid Schizophrenic?" "sure. Whatever. But The Bottom Line Is He's Mad As A Hatter.

After Sixty-one Years Together, She Simply Clutched My Hand And Exhaled.

Dear God. Not Only Am I Unemployed And Homeless, But I Also Have A Pregnant Woman, Bereaved Dog, Elephant, And Eleven Horses To Take Care Of.