You Are Truly Satan's Sequined Spawn.

In This Man’s Smile Was All The Unfairness Of The World In Its Thuggish Seduction. “just Come With Me. We’ll Take Care Of You.” “no, You Won’t.” Taylor Stroked The Man’s Cheek. She Reached Her Arms Up To Cradle The Back Of His Head And, With The Skill Of A Champion, She Broke His Neck. Then She Dragged Him Into The Bushes, Took His Gun And Walkie-talkie, And Kept Moving.

We're In English Class, Which For Most Of Us Is An Excruciating Exercise In Staying Awake Through The Great Classics Of Literature. These Works - Groundbreaking, Incendiary, Timeless - Have Been Pureed By The Curriculum Monsters Into A Digestible Pabulum Of Themes And Factoids We Can Spew Back On A Test. Scoring Well On Tests Is The Sort Of Happy Thing That Gets The School District The Greenbacks They Crave. Understanding And Appreciating The Material Are Secondary.

What Do You Feel? I’ve Never Been Asked This Question Once. None Of Us Has. We Aren’t Supposed To Feel. We’re British.

Memphis—it’s Just A Bird. Birds Fly Around, Brother. It’s What They Do. It’s Not Following You, And It’s Not A Sign. Unless You Really Did Give It Candy And Flowers, In Which Case You Are One Strange Brother.

Taylor Clapped Three Times For Attention. "ladies! Ladies! My Stars! That's Enough. Now. We All Know Miss Arkansas's Girls Are Fake, Miss Ohio's Easier Than Making Cereal, And Miss Montana's Dress Is Something My Blind Meemaw Would Wear To Bingo Night." - "beauty Queens