What I Really Hated, Of Course, Was

In The Beginning, I Was Put Off By The Harshness Of German. Someone Would Order A Piece Of Cake, And It Sounded As If It Were An Actual Order, Like, "cut The Cake And Lie Facedown In That Ditch Between The Cobbler And The Little Girl."

The Trouble With Aggressive Nonsmokers Is That They Feel They Are Doing You A Favor By Not Allowing You To Smoke. They Seem To Think That One Day You'll Look Back And Thank Them For Those Precious Fifteen Seconds They Just Added To Your Life. What They Don't Understand Is That Those Are Just Fifteen More Seconds You Can Spend Hating Their Guts And Plotting Revenge.

It's Funny How Certain Objects Convey A Message - My Washer And Dryer, For Example. They Can't Speak, Of Course, But Whenever I Pass Them They Remind Me That I'm Doing Fairly Well. "no More Laundromat For You," They Hum. My Stove, A Downer, Tells Me Every Day That I Can't Cook, And Before I Can Defend Myself My Scale Jumps In, Shouting From The Bathroom, "well, He Must Be Doing _something - _my Numbers Is Off The Charts." The Skeleton Has A Much More Limited Vocabulary, And Says Only One Thing: "you Are Going To Die."

In America, If Your Next-door Neighbor Has A Rolls-royce, You Want One Too. But In England, If Your Neighbor Has A Rolls-royce, You Want Him To Die In A Fiery Accident. That's A Quote From Someone Else, But There's Something About American Optimism, That Feeling You Can Do Anything If You're At Least Middle Class In America. If I Can Have A Writing Career, Anyone Can. There's Nothing Special About Me.

Weird Doors Open. People Fall Into Things.