This is a world where everybodyโs gotta do something. Ya know, somebody laid down this rule that everybodyโs gotta do something, they gotta be something. You know, a dentist, a glider pilot, a narc, a janitor, a preacher, all that . . . Sometimes I just get tired of thinking of all the things that I donโt wanna do. All the things that I donโt wanna be. Places I donโt wanna go, like India, like getting my teeth cleaned. Save the whale, all that, I donโt understand that . . .
Charles BukowskiThanksgiving. It proved you had survived another year with its wars, inflation, unemployment, smog, presidents. It was a grand neurotic gathering of clans: loud drunks, grandmothers, sisters, aunts, screaming children, would-be suicides. And don't forget indigestion. I wasn't different from anyone else: There sat the 18-pound bird on my sink, dead, plucked, totally disemboweled. Iris would roast it for me.
Charles Bukowski