If Contemporary Literary Fiction Doesn't Read A

That Means That The Universe Is Two-dimensional. Matter, Energy, Time, You, Me And The Floor Are Holograms.

Scotch Whisky Is Made From Barley And The Morning Dew On Angel's Nipples.

I Was Having A Mildly Paranoid Day, Mostly Due To The Fact That The Mad Priest Lady From Over The River Had Taken To Nailing Weasels To My Front Door Again.

Dance Like You're Stamping On A Human Face Forever, Love Like You've Been In A Serious Car Crash That Minced The Front Of Your Brain, Stab Like No One Can Arrest You, And Live Like There's No Such Thing As God.

Read Comics. All Comics. And Then Cut Them Open To Steal Their Power.