I figured that was your communiss trash. I shit-canned it.

For a while, I shall have to make a conscious effort to smile, nod, stand and perform the thousands of little gestures which constitute life on Earth, and then those gestures will become reflexes again.

Saint, take me to the Louvre on a litter. I want to slap Mona Lisa. An axe. I want to behead, bebreast, beleg the Venus of Milo. I want to bewing the Winged. …

Fifty dollars gold 'd buy beer to beat the band—enough to drown me if I fell in head first.