—On a scale of one to ten, with ten being the worst, what would you say your pain level is?
—One.
Philip Cavendish, Tilly’s Treasury of Colloquial Bits.
Film since 1970: more sex, more profanity, more violence. Better movies?
Dorothy Edwin, Nicole Is Defunct.
Hedonism as self-expression. Anything as self-expression.
Oswald Delling, Where Are the Vikings?
“That is comedy, isn’t it?” asked Riley. “I can’t tell anymore.”
Miles Everett Mander, Hard-Won Tales.
It has been said before, and it will be said again: the future never comes.
Ross Dunward, My Time on the Tundra.
“No, Gwendolyn is quite wrong. He’s not a pig, he is a stalk of celery.”
Anderson Culpis, Rex and Rhonda—A Short Novel.
Culture—indeed, “civilization” itself—is a conspiracy.
Dieter Borst, Single Points of Failure.
They don’t take secularism seriously. They just take it.
Rollo Marquardt, Dwelling in the Cupcake World.
A sign of the times is the sheer number of artists, actors, novelists, musicians, models. It is not a good sign.
Sidney Barbuckle, A Pocketful of Sand.
“A certain seaman who saw things is dead,” Calvin whispered. “And why do you use the word certain?” asked Drake, in full voice.
Quentin Drabb, Ebenezer’s Untold Tales.
dennis scharnberg 