You should feel what it is like to pleasure a falcon. You lock talons with her in the sky and do it while you both are falling like meteors. You would like it; they never complain if you come too fast.
If you have come to these pages for laughter, may you find it.
If you are here to be offended, may your ire rise and your blood boil.
If you seek an adventure, may this song sing you away to blissful escape.
If you need to test or confirm your beliefs, may you reach comfortable conclusions.
All books reveal perfection, by what they are or what they are not.
May you find that which you seek, in these pages or outside them.
May you find perfection, and know it by name.
You think you know how this story is going to end, but you don't. Trust me, I was there. I know.
Biff, in Ch. 1
Moses should have said "Let my people go. Please."
When the oil of the lamp is used up the wanker shall light his own way to salvation.
Fornication with your daughters thats like a double dog sin.
Your mother eats fungus from the feet of lepers.
Sin is moist make a mental note.
Oh to be young and in love (with 8 Chinese concubines).
This book you've read is just a story. I made it up. It is not designed to change anyone's beliefs or worldview, unless after reading it you've decided to be kinder to your fellow humans (which is okay), or you decide you really would like to teach yoga to an elephant, in which case, please get videotape.
Regardless of its purpose, the humpback-whale song is the most complex piece of nonhuman composition on earth. Whether it's art, prayer, or booty call, the humpback song is an amazing thing to experience firsthand, and I suspect that even once the science of it is put to bed, it will remain, as long as they sing, magic.
Author's notes : Science and Magic
Tension among a bunch of neurotics is just more interesting for a story than is a description of dedicated professionals doing their work and getting along, which is the case in reality. When in doubt, assume I made it up.
Gentle spook, if it is a warning you bring, state it true. If action you require, ask outright. If music you must make, play on- but by the wine-stained balls of Bacchus, speak your bloody business quick and clear and then be gone, before Time's iron tongue licks away my mercy bonk with second thoughts!
Pocket (Black Fool)
And once I shagged Regan on a platter of pork in front of Muslims.
Pocket (Black Fool)
She's a bloody vision of loveliness.
I shagged a ghost!
Drool, Ch 14 - On Tender Horns - pg 167
I fink I gots deaf on me willie.
Drool, Ch 14 - On Tender Horns - pg 170
And so that is the story of how St. Rufus of Pipewrench was licked to death by marmots.
Fancy a spot of stony bonking before vespers?
Thalia, to the Bishop, after being found servicing Pocket
Mary: You can read? Pocket: I was raised in a nunnery, wench. I'm a walking library of learning bound in comely leather, suitable for stroking at your service, should you fancy a bit of culture to go with your lack of breeding...or vice verse of course.
Cordelia: You honor us, Fool. Did you hear rumors of small animals to hurt or were you hoping to accidentally surprise me in my bath again? Pocket: I was lost, Milady. Cordelia: A dozen times?
The Ghost: I'm sorry to haunt you while you're rogering the help. Pocket: The rogering has not commenced, wisp. I have barely bridled the horse for a moist and bawdy ride. Now, go away!
King Lear: What is your name? Kent / Caius: Caius. King Lear: And whence do you hale? Kent / Caius: From Bonking, Sire. King Lear: Well, yes, lad as do we all.
King Lear: How hath my fool offended? Regan: He hath shagged me roughly, against my will, and finished too soon. King Lear: By force- Pocket? He isn't eight-stone on a feast day- he couldn't shag a cat by force. Pocket: That's not true, sire. If the cat is distracted with a trout, then - well, uh, never mind.
Ch 14 - On Tender Horns - pg 177
Regan: Smell him. He reeks of sex, like fish and mushroom and sweat, doesn't he? Pocket: Aye, your honor, I'm sure I have an odor about me. I must confess, I was sans trou today in the kitchen, while awaiting my laundry. Bubble had left a casserole out on the floor to cool, and it did trip me and I fell prick-deep in gravy and goo- but I was on my way to chapel at the time. King Lear: [To Pocket] You put your dick in my lunch? King Lear: [to the bailiff] The fool put his dick in my lunch? Regan: No, in your beloved daughter. King Lear: Quiet, girl! Captain Curran, send a guard to watch the bread and the cheese before the fool has his way with it.
Ch 14 - On Tender Horns - pg 179
Pocket: Do you know that there's no fool piece on the chessboard, Kent? Kent: Methinks the fool is the player, the mind above the moves. Pocket: Well, that's a scratchy spot of cat wank. But bloody well said.