Whistler,' Manet called. 'How's your mother?
Christopher MooreStichwörter: art whistler manet
The Colorman slid off the morgue slab to the cold floor. Bullets pooped from his wounds and plopped on the stone as he limped naked around the room looking for something to wear. All the dead were either naked, too ripe, or too tall for him to use their clothes, so he settled on a white mortician's coat that trailed out behind him as he went. The morgue attendant pretended not to see him as he passed, figuring that a spontaneous reanimation would require paperwork that he did not wish to fill out.
Christopher MooreHe preferred to not think of his mother as having hips. He preferred to not think of her as a woman at all, more as a traveling mass of loving annoyance - a mother-shaped storm that inhabited the bakery and, in bringing rain for the growth of the living things over which she hovered, didn't mind scaring the piss out of them with a few thunderbolts from time to time.
Christopher MooreMr. Asher, you can resist who you are for only so long. Finally, you just decide to go with fate.
Christopher MooreStichwörter: life fate death inpirational
He really wanted to remain angry, but somehow he had come to believe that women were wondrous, mysterious, and magical creatures who should be treated not only with respect but with reverence and even awe. Perhaps it was something that his mother used to say to him. She would say, “Lucien, women are wondrous, mysterious, and magical creatures, who should be treated not only with respect but with reverence, perhaps even awe. Now go sweep the steps.
Christopher MooreYou know what? You know what? You know what?' I was waving my finger under her nose. 'You scratched the Son of God. That's your ass, that's what.
Christopher MooreStichwörter: hilarious
Where do you think this guy is leading us?' 'Probably somewhere to murder and kill us.' 'Yeah, at least one of those.
Christopher MooreStichwörter: can-t-breathe-for-laughing
You put your dick in my lunch?
Christopher MoorePerhaps there is a reason that there is no fool piece on the chessboard. What action, a fool? What strategy, a fool? What use, a fool? Ah, but a fool resides in a deck of cards, a joker, sometimes two. Of no worth, of course. No real purpose. The appearance of a trump, but none of the power: Simply an instrument of chance. Only a dealer may give value to the joker.
Christopher MooreThe fool's number is zero, but that's because he represents the infinite possibility of all things. He may become anything. See, he carries all of his possessions in a bundle on his back. He is ready for anything, to go anywhere, to become whatever he needs to be. Don't count out the fool, Pocket, simply because his number is zero.
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