Oh, I get it," I said. "It's a parable. Cute. Let's go eat.

And an inky-colored despair of rejection enveloped me like the black tortilla of depression around a pain burrito.

He was a writer and words were his weapons.

This story is not and never was meant to challenge anyone's faith; however, if one's faith can be shaken by stories in a humorous novel, one may have a bit more praying to do.

Shoes off in the whale! And don't try and make a break for the anus.

Like looking down on a lubricious chess set, isn't it? The king moves in tiny steps, with no direction, like a drunkard trying to avoid the archer's bolt. The others work their strategies and wait for the old man to fall. He has no power, yet all power moves in his orbit and to his mad whim. Do you know there's no fool piece on the chessboard, Kent?" "Methinks the fool is the player, the mind above the moves.

She hugged me and I could feel the heat rise in my face, either from shame or love, like there was a difference.