It was as if vampirism carried with it a crampless case of rattlesnake PMS.
Christopher MooreStichwörter: bloodsucking-fiends
My name," said Mr. Fresh.
"Pardon?" Charlie stopped tying himself up.
"I dress in mint green because of my first name. It's Minty."
Charlie completely forgot what he was worried about. "Minty? Your name is Minty Fresh?"
Charlie appeared to be trying to stifle a sneeze, but then snorted an explosive laugh. Then ducked.
Stichwörter: humor christopher-moore a-dirty-job minty-fresh
At the pet store he picked out two painted turtles, each about as big around as a mayonnaise-jar lid. He bought them a large kidney shaped dish that had its own little island, a plastic palm tree, some aquatic plants, and a snail. The snail, presumably, to bolster the self-esteem of the turtles: "You think we're slow? Look at that guy." To store up the snail's morale in the same way, there was a rock.
Christopher MooreStichwörter: humor turtles christopher-moore a-dirty-job snails ahahahaha-xd laughed-my-butt-off
She have to go pick up prescription, so I watch Sophie for short time. And tiny bears are happy when I go in bathroom."
"Hamsters, Mrs. Korjev, not bears."
....
"I've got her now," Charlie said. "One of you stay with her while I get rid of the H-A-M-S-T-E-R-S."
"He mean the tiny bears.
Stichwörter: christopher-moore a-dirty-job hamsters tiny-bears
I like a girl with a substantial bottom,' said Renoir, drawing in the air the size bottom he preferred.
Christopher MooreThe Painting is not shit,' said Lucien.
'I know,' said Henri. 'That was just part of the subterfuge. I am of royal lineage; subterfuge is one of the many talents we carry in our blood, along with guile and hemophilia.
Stichwörter: art
Of course they won't bloody remember, they'll be dead.' Then she called him a name in a dead language that translated, roughly, to 'poop on a stick,' but sounded more succinct, like this: 'Of course they won't bloody remember, they'll be dead, Poopstick.
Christopher MooreStichwörter: art
The Angel Gabriel disappeared once for sixty years and they found him on earth hiding in the body of a man named Miles Davis.
Christopher MooreStichwörter: humor angels jazz miles-davis
An embrace from him left scratches on my back that sometimes wept blood, yet my brothers and I fought to be the first in his arms when he returned from work each evening. The same injuries inflicted in anger would have sent us crying to our mother's skirts. I fell asleep each night feeling his hand on my back like a shield.
Fathers.
Little-boy love...the cleanest pain I've ever known. Love without desire, conditions, or limits - a pure and radiant glow in the heart that could make me giddy and sad and glorious all at once. Where does it go? Why, in all their experiments, did the Magi never try to capture that purity in a bottle? Perhaps they couldn't.
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