I will not eat oysters. I want my food dead - not sick, not wounded - dead.
I hope you're getting this down.
No matter what the shrinks, or the pundits, or the self-help books tell you, when it comes to love, it's luck.
Where I grew up in Brooklyn, nobody committed suicide. Everyone was too unhappy.
It is no secret that organized crime in America takes in over forty billion dollars a year. This is quite a profitable sum, especially when one considers that the Mafia spends very little for office supplies.
How is it possible to find meaning in a finite world, given my waist and shirt size?