The Ultimate End Of Any Ideology Is

What An Electric Heater Perched Upon The Rim Of The Bathtub Of The World That Dead Jesus Was.

The Trouble With The Fast Lane Is That All The Movement Is Horizontal. And I Like To Go Vertical Sometimes.

I'm Probably More Interested In Sentences Than Anything Else In Life.

The Odor Of Frying Bacon, Sausage Links, And Ham Tiptoed On Little Pig Feet All The Way To The North End Of The Second Floor. Inevitably, The Odor Made Her Simultaneously Ravenous And Nauseated. She Hated The Sensation. It Reminded Her Of Pregnancy. Every Sunday Morning, Leigh-cheri Awoke To A Pan Of Fried Fear.

In Order To Be Respected, Authority Has Got To Be Respectable.