I had a long history of calamitous mishaps.
This was the second time in less than forty-eight hours that a man stopped fondling me because his phone rang. And both times it was because someone had been killed. If I wasn’t a well-adjusted, emotionally healthy person I might be bothered by this.
Zook peeked into the living room. “This house has high speed Internet, right?” “Sure, we got cable,” Grandma said. “We’re not in the Stone Age here. I blog and everything.
I am just a simple monk. The sun shines on the just and unjust alike. If the sun does not judge, then who am I to do so?
How’s it going?” Morelli wanted to know. “It’s average. Stole a truck. Blew up a house. Brought seven monkeys home with me. And now I have a naked man in my shower.” “Yeah, same ol’, same ol’,” Morelli said.
The doorbell rang and Grandma ran to get it. “It’s him,” she said to me. “It’s my honey.” My father got out of his chair in the living room and took his seat at the table. “I don’t care if he craps in a bag,” he said to Ranger. “I’ll give you a hundred bucks if you can scare him into marrying her and moving her into his room at the old people’s home.
I’d find you,” Ranger said. He took my hand, kissed the palm, and got out of the car.
I spent as much time on the rifle range as I spend with my knife in the peanut butter jar, I’d be a crack shot.
I don’t understand how these things happen to you. They don’t happen to anyone else. Who else do you know dropped their keys in a Dumpster? No one, that’s who. Only you would do such a thing.
Everyone wants to be a better version of themselves,” he said. “It’s easy for you because you just needed a new jacket. For some other people the job is more complicated.
War, famine, pestilence didn’t stop my relatives from moving forward one foot in front of the other. They were good solid plodders without grandiose expectations. And that’s the legacy they left me. The ability to plod forward, no matter the circumstances. I realize plodding isn’t glamorous, but there are times when it serves a purpose.
This is a bad idea,” Lula said to me. “My nipples are all shrunk up and trying to hide inside my body. It’s like what men’s gonads do when someone comes at them with a butcher knife. Those suckers abandon ship and there’s nothing left but an empty nut sack. Not that I know firsthand. I’m just sayin’ what I hear.
Shakespeare. “To do a great right, do a little wrong.
When you live in Jersey a beach isn’t enough. People have energy in Jersey. They need things to do. They need a beach with a boardwalk. And the boardwalk has to be filled with rides and games and crappy food. Add some miniature golf. Throw in a bunch of stores selling T-shirts with offensive pictures. Life doesn’t get much better than this.
I’m a book junkie. When I retire from wrestling I’m going to open a mystery bookstore.” “Can you make a living selling mysteries?” “No. Nobody makes a living selling mysteries. The stores are all fronts for numbers operations.
She’s a former professional erectile engineer.
My philosophy is aim high and fail big.
Whatever the other team does best, that’s what you have to do better.
We didn’t do this sort of emotional display. We did temper and sarcasm. Anything beyond temper and sarcasm was virgin territory.
What was the deal with me today? It was as if my mouth wasn’t connected to my brain.
How can you completely appreciate the Jersey shore if the air is safe to breathe in the interior parts of the state?