Then, like a born and bred asshole, he added to the sheriff, "He writes murder mysteries.

Drink your coffee -- people in Africa are sleeping.

The battle rages eternal, though the race, religion, gender or sexual orientation of those discriminated against changes regularly. Maybe man’s need for a scapegoat is genetically programmed into him.

Do you still do the clubs?” Jake shakes his head. “You do the clubs because you can’t find what you need at home. I’ve got everything I need. I’ve got the answer to needs I didn’t even know I had.

He was probably selfish in the sack. Probably selfish and greedy and...unsophisticated. And hung like a horse.

And yet there was something about his strength, his arrogance, his sheer size that got under my skin. He probably couldn't even spell vanilla. He was probably selfish in the sack. Probably selfish and greedy and...unsophisticated. And hung like a horse.

The problem with a life spent reading is you know too much.