#christo

Inspector, there's no smoking allowed in here," said a uniformed officer who had been called to the scene. Cavuto waved to the drawers [at the morgue]. "Do you think they mind?" The officer shook his head. "No, sir." Cavuto blew a stream of smoke at Gilbert [a dead guy]. "And him, do you think he minds?" No, sir." And you, Patrolman Jeeter, you don't mind, do you?" Jeeter cleared his throat. "Uh...no, sir." Well, good," Cavuto said. "Look, on the side of the car, Jeeter. It says 'Protect and Serve' not 'Piss and Moan.'" Yes, sir. ↗

— Christopher Moore

#christopher-moore #love

You first," Tommy said. They stood in the great room of their loft on either side of the futon, where the huge cat, a crossbreed between a Persian, a dust mop, and possibly a water buffalo, was actively shedding. ↗

— Christopher Moore

#you-suck #love

Then someone started pounding on the door. And not a little "Hey, what's up?" pound. Like there was a big sale on door pounds down at the Pound Outlet. Buy one, get one free at Pounds-n-Stuff. --Being the Journal of Abby Normal ↗

— Christopher Moore

#christopher-moore #love

Love? Sodding, bloody, tossing, bloody, sodding, bloody love? Irrelevant, superfluous, bloody, ruddy, rotten, sodding love? What ho? Wherefore? What the f*ck? Love? ↗

— Christopher Moore

#fool #love

Inside, I was like: "Ha, suck my spiky rubber strap-on, vampyre hunter! ↗

— Christopher Moore

#you-suck #love

I was all, "Oh, dog, Countess gonna crack open a forty of whup-ass on you now. Oh, you in the sh*t now, wigga!" (I am not incline to use hip-hop vernacular often, but there are times when, like French, it just better expresses the sentiment of the moment.) -Abby ↗

— Christopher Moore

#you-suck #love

Kayso, Foo finally came home and I jumped into his arms and sort of rode him to the ground with a massive tongue kiss so deep that I could taste the burned cinnamon toast of his soul, but then I slapped him, so he didn't think I was a slut. (Shut up, he had wood.) --Being the Journal of Abby Normal ↗

— Christopher Moore

#christopher-moore #love

Relatively speaking, the mind controls the body but who or what controls the mind? ↗

— Christopher Dines

#manifest-your-bliss #inner-peace

As I sit here writing to you, I have propped my stocking feet much too close to the hearth. I’ve actually singed my stockings on occasion, and once I had to stomp out my feet when they started smoking. Even after that I can’t seem to rid myself of the habit. There, now you could pick me out of a crowd blindfolded. Simply follow the scent of scorched stockings. ↗

— Lisa Kleypas

#christopher #love-letter #love

One evening, at the time of the Six-Day War, I [Christopher Hitchens] had my wicked way with a lovely lady, who had earlier intimated that she did not perhaps find me entirely repulsive. We procured a decent room, as I remember, at the Cadogan Hotel. Perhaps a little flown with wine, I asked her to don a Martin Amis face mask which I had—with a combination of sticky tape, elastic bands, cardboard, and a much-treasured photograph—prepared earlier. The fair damsel was happy to oblige, and thus attired she permitted me to embark on the hugely agreeable pathway to libidinous fulfillment. ↗

— Craig Brown

#martin-amis #six-day-war #love