She Really Did Like Me, The Idiot.

Weren't We All Crazy In Our Sleep? What Was Sleep, After All, But The Process By Which We Dumped Our Insanity Into A Dark Subconscious Pit And Came Out On The Other Side Ready To Eat Cereal Instead Of Our Neighbor's Children?

Getting Yelled At By A Furious Woman Should Be Treated As A Semiformal Occasion.

For My Part, My Interest In Paris Had Faded Away Completely Long Ago When I Learned That It Was In France.

It's That Moon Again, Slung So Fat And Low In The Tropical Night, Calling Out Across A Curdled Sky And Into The Quivering Ears Of That Dear Old Voice In The Shadows, The Dark Passenger, Nestled Snug In The Backseat Of The Dodge K-car Of Dexter's Hypothetical Soul. That Rascal Moon, That Loudmouthed Leering Lucifer, Calling Down Across The Empty Sky To The Dark Hearts Of The Night Monsters Below, Calling Them Away To Their Joyful Playgrounds.

As I've Said, Freedom Is Really An Illusion. Anytime We Think We Have A Real Choice, It Just Means We Haven't Seen The Shotgun Aimed At Our Navel.