Magic Is The Cheat Codes For The

So This Zealot Comes To My Door, All Glazed Eyes And Clean Reproductive Organs, Asking Me If I Ever Think About God. So I Tell Him I Killed God. I Tracked God Down Like A Rabid Dog, Hacked Off His Legs With A Hedge Trimmer, Raped Him With A Corncob, And Boiled Off His Corpse In An Acid Bath. So He Pulls An Alternating-current Taser On Me And Tells Me That Only The Official Serbian Church Of Tesla Can Save My Polyphase Intrinsic Electric Field, Known To Non-engineers As "the Soul." So I Hit Him. What Would You Do?

Cheap! But Not As Cheap As Your Girlfriend.

Jim Rosato Was Recently Married, To A Greek Nurse. Rosato Was Half Irish And Half Italian, And There Was A Pool On At The 1st As To Which Of The Two Would Arrive At Work Wearing The Other's Skin As A Hat Within The Year.

There's One Hole In Every Revolution, Large Or Small. And It's One Word Long— People. No Matter How Big The Idea They All Stand Under, People Are Small And Weak And Cheap And Frightened. It's People That Kill Every Revolution.

Unless You Turn Out To Be A Shining And Ballistic Genius, Then, Trust Me, If You Want To Do This Then You're Going To Be Spending The Next Few Years Doing Little Else. This Is A Thing You Do At A Table With A Notebook And A Keyboard, And There's No Getting Away From It. Put In The Hours. You Don't Get To Turn Off 'being A Writer.'