A Focus on the Family official recently warned parents not to let children dress as pirates, as the legendary figures conjure up nothing but “images of sweaty, half-naked men sleeping two sometimes three to a cot.” Then the official, Hugh Troy, closed his eyes and thought of the rigging, the peg legs, the drinking of grog, the “ol’ heigh-ho,” and soon he was hoisting his own main sail and drifting in his own Tropic of Capricorn where the decks always need swabbing and the booty is endless.
I would be whatever and whoever you wanted me to be – anybody, anything.
And that’s why I can’t let myself love you.
No, no; don’t worry – this wasn’t going against that thing her parents had taught her when she was a little girl. Admiring from afar; sending the buttons flying as she used her eyes to rip the shirt off his chest; and imagining in graphic detail the sweat trapped between their bodies during a steamy encounter in the nearest motel: even though she had never met the guy, she was sure none of these things qualified as “talking to strangers.”
She plays a hooker in her next film. She got 30M and didn’t have time to play Lady Macbeth and Hedda Gabler on Broadway.
I crush the plush raspberry to the roof of my mouth with my tongue. The sensuality of this most shameless of fruits makes me swoon.
The cool wind stirring through his hair and filling his nostrils, he opened his mouth to take in a deep breath of this sweet, new life, for he had finally made it to the top of the top; the summit of the mountain we call success. It felt good, really good there at the top, except for an acute, tugging pain in his abdomen that seemed to be nagging sadistically, cackling at him like an old witch, “There’s only one direction you can go now, buddy – hee-hee hee!”
“Wait – don’t jump!” Carly Ann yelled at her big brother who was ready and poised to plummet to (what he thought would be) his death from the window of his second-story bedroom. “Just give me a minute to get up there and I’ll push you off myself!”
I went to dinner once with a critic, a cynic, and a mutant alien life-form from Mars. The critic stuck up his nose and said the food wasn’t good enough to be served to anyone with taste buds, and with a heavy sigh the cynic explained that chefs don’t actually cook for our pleasure or benefit but rather to fulfill their own selfish desire for success – but both men looked bitterly disappointed and wistfully hungry when in one foul swoosh of its crooked, wart-infested finger the mutant alien life-form zapped both of their plates to ashes.
They tell me, “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.”
If so, I want to be in the audience, living a real life.
I’m sorry your last girlfriend didn’t like it when you spoke to her in metaphors, but she obviously didn’t know what you were worth. Just as a treasure chest is never left in plain sight, one must dig a little deeper to find the treasure within your words.
Night after night they grumbled about being hungry and dared her to step foot on the floor.
Instead, last night she set up a trip-wire and watched them drag her rapist step-father into the shadows, and smiled.
Jimmy said to the bartender, “I’m not one of them guys that gives a crap whether the glass is half empty or half full. Just fill it with somethin’ good.”
It was like standing in the middle of an open field on a clear night, trying to hide from the stars. He must have already known what I had done, just like the stars would have seen me all along as I fruitlessly darted and ducked behind fences and bales of hay – and now all I could really do was to march straight up to him and openly reveal my transgression against his loyal love.
There were times, when she would catch the faintest whiff of fresh air, that she could remember with startling clarity the nights spent out on the lake, riding around on the boat, Maura’s hand clasped in her own as they looked up at the stars from their pallets on deck.
But the lake was gone, along with the boat, Maura was as good as gone, with no idea what had been done to keep her safe, and the only memories she had to look forward to making now were how far they could torture her with hard labor and hard blows before she merely phased out of existence.
Say not that your love for me is infinite, for infinity is an unproven theory – such that nothing but infinity itself will persist long enough to witness whether or not infinity truly carries on forever. I am not saying that I don’t want you to love me eternally; only that I want your love for me to be unquestionably certain.