He Was A Writer And Words Were

Do We Still Have To Floss?" Tommy Asked. "i Mean, What's The Point Of Being Immortal If We Have To Floss?

Ooo Ahe-e, I Aya Oa A," She Said In Yawnspeak, A Language - Not Unlike Hawaiian - Known For Its Paucity Of Consonants.

Even A Mentally Challenged Shark Would Figure Out That Sea Turtles Did Not Wear Boxer Shorts Printed In Flying Piggies, And No Sea Turtle Would Be Yattering Streams Of Obscenities Between Chain-smoker Gasps Of Breath.

The Winter Woman Is As Wild As A Blizzard, As Fresh As New Snow. While Some See Her As Cold, She Has A Fiery Heart Under That Ice-queen Exterior. She Likes The Stark Simplicity Of Japanese Art And The Daring Complexity Of Russian Literature. She Prefers Sharp To Flowing Lines, Brooding To Pouting, And Rock And Roll To Country And Western. Her Drink Is Vodka, Her Car Is German, Her Analgesic Is Advil. The Winter Woman Likes Her Men Weak And Her Coffee Strong. She Is Prone To Anemia, Hysteria, And Suicide.

For A While He'd Tried Molding Himself Into The Tragic Romantic Hero, Brooding And Staring Clench-jawed Off Into Space As He Composed Dark Verse In His Head. But It Turned Out That Trying To Appear Tragic In Incontinence, Indiana, Was Redundant, And His Mother Kept Shouting At Him And Making Him Forget His Rhymes. "tommy, If You Keep Grinding Your Teeth Like That, They'll Wear Away And You'll Have To Have Dentures Like Aunt Ester." Tommy Only Wished His Beard Was As Heavy As Aunt Ester's---then He Could Stare Out Over The Moors While He Stroked It Pensively.