Think about it man. Submarines.
You can't just claim women off TV, you know. You gotta get with them.
“Humans always look taller when they killing.”
—Morality Garden—
We the ones going to make it right.
Things’ll get handled.
Don’t assume I’m so insensitive I’m beyond caring.
Women is something I know.
If you want a soul-mate, I know the best way to get that, scientifically tested and proven. It should appeal to your logical mind.
Fucker’s willing to risk death for nine hundred dollars!? That don’t make sense.
His clothes were filthy with blood.
We can knock him around to keep the doctors in business.
The answer is obvious.
Let’s push them over the verge.
But it’s in our waking lives we live or die.
They kicked his girl around and slashed her face when she fought, and left her screaming for help—but no help came—while they ran off the beach carrying the still wriggling but dying body wrapped in the blanket. They left nothing behind but some bits of potato salad, sandwiches, a couple of bottles, and blood stains soaking the sand.
When bullets fly, they targeted mainly at us. But we don’t dodge. We got heart like lions.
Now we gotta stick our necks out.
I’m going to come back from the fight covered in more gore than anyone—Black-Steel-Nine intestines hanging out my mouth. If anyone loves to commit violence in the name of humanitarian purposes more than I, I’d like you to show him to me.
We define the terms.
The attack went on, and business got taken care of.
He was in jail for being stupid.
Jonas mounted his cloud, thunderbolts in hand, to sail forth before his nation.
They moved on the Fuck Club.
Things went smoother than smooth.
He was a gorilla pimp with more heart to beat a woman than hit a man and no heart to put his life on the line.
Workable hoes we kept for a few days to trade to the Grogans. The ragged ones got cut loose.
The unity of the click was shattered.
Who says what about me don't matter to me.
We gotta recognize and be conscious of the choices we make.
But it was a chance for us to blow off some steam and probably some money like a bunch of fools.
It’s simpler than you think.
Maybe sweaty balls are bad.
Now I know what a chuck-a-luck chump feels like.
African Zulu might surprise.
Bell rang, gates flew open, and hoofs churned soil.
It became a clusterfuck against the rail.
I noticed a disproportionate number of happy black faces coming out of the crowd.
You best believe the lid was off.
He’s not respecting our law.
Why should Nolan stick his thumb in our eye.
Roses, bitches. Smell them.
Why you watch me so close like a jealous lover?
We got half-naked ghetto-rats riding they bikes in lazy circles, no shirts, torn pants, few prospects. Boarded up windows, empty lots, garbage in the streets, dry dust everywhere. Rusty topped cars thirty or forty years old with bald tires parked on every corner. Old shoes hanging in the wires. Warehouses. Row houses. And old humans living in basements, peeking out behind curtains, wondering when they going to get shot.
I nominate Thayne, a.k.a. Proven, to the honored position of Jestor.
You think you can carry my burden? I’m higher than a Muckamuck.
That should have been the end of it.
I’d never heard him so quiet.
