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Did that really happen?" said Maggie White. She was a dull person, but a sensational invitation to make babies. Men looked at her and wanted to fill her up with babies right away. She hadn’t had even one baby yet. She used birth control. "Of course it happened," Trout told her. "If I wrote something that hadn't really happened, and I tried to sell it, I could go to jail. That’s fraud." Maggie believed him. "I'd never thought about that before." "Think about it now." "It’s like advertising. You have to tell the truth in advertising, or you get in trouble." "Exactly. The same body of law applies." "Do you think you might put us in a book sometime?" "I put everything that happens to me in books." "I guess I better be careful what I say." "That’s right. And I'm not the only one who's listening. God is listening, too. And on Judgment Day he's going to tell you all the things you said and did. If it turns out they're bad things instead of good things, that’s too bad for you, because you'll burn forever and ever. The burning never stops hurting." Poor Maggie turned gray. She believed that, too, and was petrified. Kilgore Trout laughed uproariously. A salmon egg flew out of his mouth and landed in Maggie's cleavage. ↗
#men
He’s an even-tempered stallion. What he lacks in stamina he makes up for in speed, kind of like most of the men I’ve slept with. ↗
[Hades] returned his attention to the playlist while I eased the car back on the road. His fingers flipped deftly over the screen. 'Orpheus...Dusk...Orpheus...Dusk...do you have anything on here that doesn't make people want to jump off a cliff?' ... 'I'm driving. When you learn to drive something more modern than a horse and buggy, we can listen to your music.' 'I can drive!' 'Did they even have cars the last time you can to the surface?' I teased. 'Yes.' 'Not counting the minute and a half you spent rescuing me last year?' Hades fell silent, and I laughed. 'I didn't think so. ↗
Reading Aloud to My Father I chose the book haphazard from the shelf, but with Nabokov's first sentence I knew it wasn't the thing to read to a dying man: The cradle rocks above an abyss, it began, and common sense tells us that our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness. The words disturbed both of us immediately, and I stopped. With music it was the same -- Chopin's Piano Concerto — he asked me to turn it off. He ceased eating, and drank little, while the tumors briskly appropriated what was left of him. But to return to the cradle rocking. I think Nabokov had it wrong. This is the abyss. That's why babies howl at birth, and why the dying so often reach for something only they can apprehend. At the end they don't want their hands to be under the covers, and if you should put your hand on theirs in a tentative gesture of solidarity, they'll pull the hand free; and you must honor that desire, and let them pull it free. ↗
Edwina knew things with Greg had just about run their course. She'd bedded him, and bought him clothes, and now it was time for the polite push out the door. Of course she wished her latest conquest all the best. If he was lucky, Greg would just fall right into some other powerful woman's bed. If not . . . well, if not he'd just have to do the old-fashioned thing and look for work. Though darling Greggy-poo didn't really seem the type. Edwina studied him while he slept by the pool, drinking in that tight behind and those bulging muscles for the last time. The trouble with younger men, she thought, was that they were so damned good at sex that they really didn't have to be good at anything else. ↗
