Days of thunder
These are really old, and I meant to post them up earlier, but just never got around to it.
Kitty the personal masseuse. See how Matt is reaping off her free labor! Slavery is not dead!
"He he he...he doest not knowest that I have artfully inserted porcupine needles in his neck!"
"Oooo, I am sooo sexy, except I've overgrown my bushy eyebrows again!"
"Die you fool, go to thy father Satan!"
"What? What did you say?"
"Oh nothing dear, that was Rachael speaking to her hangnail."
"Heeyah heeyah heeyah...wait until you go to bed to-night!"
"Oooh, you sexy thang, you!"
Rachael: "Beans beans, the magical fruit, the more you eat, the more you toot. Eat clam chowder, make it louder!"
"Nothing happens while you live. The scenery changes, people come in and go out, that's all. There are no beginnings. Days are tacked on to days without rhyme or reason, an interminable, monotonous addition. From time to time you make a semi-total: you say: I've been travelling for three years, I've been in Bouville for three years. Neither is there any end: you never leave a woman, a friend, a city in one go. And then everything looks alike: Shanghai, Moscow, Algiers, everything is the same after two weeks. There are moments--rarely--when you make a landmark, you realize that you're going with a woman, in some messy business. The time of a flash. After that, the procession starts again you begin to add up hours and days: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday. April, May, June. 1924, 1925, 1926."
-Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea
Kitty the personal masseuse. See how Matt is reaping off her free labor! Slavery is not dead!
"He he he...he doest not knowest that I have artfully inserted porcupine needles in his neck!"
"Oooo, I am sooo sexy, except I've overgrown my bushy eyebrows again!"
"Die you fool, go to thy father Satan!"
"What? What did you say?"
"Oh nothing dear, that was Rachael speaking to her hangnail."
"Heeyah heeyah heeyah...wait until you go to bed to-night!"
"Oooh, you sexy thang, you!"
Rachael: "Beans beans, the magical fruit, the more you eat, the more you toot. Eat clam chowder, make it louder!"
"Nothing happens while you live. The scenery changes, people come in and go out, that's all. There are no beginnings. Days are tacked on to days without rhyme or reason, an interminable, monotonous addition. From time to time you make a semi-total: you say: I've been travelling for three years, I've been in Bouville for three years. Neither is there any end: you never leave a woman, a friend, a city in one go. And then everything looks alike: Shanghai, Moscow, Algiers, everything is the same after two weeks. There are moments--rarely--when you make a landmark, you realize that you're going with a woman, in some messy business. The time of a flash. After that, the procession starts again you begin to add up hours and days: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday. April, May, June. 1924, 1925, 1926."
-Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea