I’m sure he killed my aunt. There’s no way she would’ve have killed herself and left him my cousins.

...that Elon Musk decided to destroy the thing he was forced to buy.

There’s so much shit going on that if a civil war were to occur, most of us wouldn’t even know what side we’re fighting for or against. America, like a cranky toddler, needs a goddamn nap.

No debates, no stalemates.

...that each of us will either wear out or rust from complacency and I’’m choosing to completely wear this body out like Charlie Parker minus the heroin.

Our formative years will always speak to us.

They’re sort of like astrological signs, casting individuals into large groupings in some sort of mystical horseshit to explain why someone born in July is aggressive or someone born in February is elusive.

The key difference between apathy (the state of simply not giving a shit) and performative apathy (the appearance of not giving a shit to accomplish a swift exit from a circular and pointless argument with an outraged person seeking validation rather than communication) is big.

...that adults who truly believe that words are violence were never slapped in the mouth for talking back or walloped with a belt for bullying their sibling.

When, this weekend, I was alerted to a new Goodreads review of the book, I opened up the website to discover a Five-Star review of the book from...

...one of her clients. When I say "client" I mean "john." By “john” I mean “paying customer.”