When there were no customers, he thought about geometry. He tried to perform the Pythagorean Theorem on the light fixture above him, given his estimate of its circumference, but he failed. He wanted to be good at math. But he just wasn’t. He wanted so badly for the math club to accept him, but to them he was a loser. During rush week they battered him blue with yard sticks; they tied him to a table naked and made him prove problems involving half circles before a huge swinging protractor cut him in half; they forced him to continually calculate the remaining volume of the kegs he had to drink, working it out by hand as he was held upside down. After he didn’t get in the club, they had started ganging up on him every day, sticking his head in the toilet and stealing his lunch money. Business was slow at the moment, and he thought about ending his life in the kitchen appliance aisle.

A few years ago, when I was hitchhiking through Laramie, Wyoming, I met an old and infertile man named John. I told him, “I think I’d have made a good son, John. But I’d have made an even better Johnson.” He nodded as he took a long drag from his cigarette before he said, “I think I would have made a good Robert Derrick. But I'd have made an even better Derrick Robert.” I was silent for a few minutes, because I knew all too well what he meant. I’ve often felt I’d have made a great Bruce Robert, and an even better Robert the Bruce than Robert the Bruce ever was. Because, as many people have told me, “You can take all the Bruces in the world, including Mr. Willis, and you’d be the only one who could simply be called ‘The Bruce.’” But you couldn’t call me “The Boss,” because that title belongs to another Bruce.

That kiss you gave me was the hottest kiss i've ever had. I pulled away because i was afraid i wouldn't be able to stop myself from ripping off your clothes. And that didn't seem like the right way to end a first date. I didn't want you to think that was all i was interested in."She stared at him. There was silence again, but this time she didn't worry about how long it went on."Why didn't you tell me?" She said finally."I tried to, but every time i saw you afterward you disappeared. I got the feeling you were avoiding me.""i didn't want things to be awkward.""Yeah, there was nothing awkward about you hiding behind a plant when i came into the dining hall at lunch on wednesday.""I wasn't hiding. I was, um, breathing. You know, oxygen. From the plant. Very oxygenated, that air is.""Of course. I should have thought of that.""It's a healthy thing. Not many people know about it.

I cook better than you," Nick corrected absently. "I think monkeys can probably be taught to cook better than you.""I'd like to have a monkey that cooked for me," said Jamie. " I would pay him in bananas. His name would be Alphonse.""I agree, that would be awesome." Mae said. "People would come for dinner just to see the monkey chef.""You're raving," Nick said, defrosting chicken in the microwave. Mae was a bit impressed with how he seemed to look at the appliance and instantly comprehend its mysteries, when she'd been heating up ready-made meals for years by a method of pressing random buttons and hoping. " I know that's the only way Jamie communicates with people, but I expected better of you, Mavis.""We're cutting out the whole Mavis thing right now, Nick," Mae said warningly."How many bananas would be good payment for a monkey?" Jamie wanted to know. " I would want to pay Alphonse a fair wage.

He watched in awe as she stacked up an enormous armload of music. "There," she finished, slapping Frank Zappa's Greatest Hits on top of the pile. "That should do for a start." "You are a music lover," said the wide-eyed cashier. "No, I'm a kleptomaniac." And she dashed out the door. He was so utterly shocked that it took him a moment to run after her. With a meaningful nod in the direction of the astounded Cahills, she barreled down the cobblestone street with her load. "Fermati!" shouted the cashier, scrambling in breathless pursuit. Nellie let a few CDs drop and watched with satisfaction over her shoulder as the clerk stopped to pick them up. The trick would be to keep the chase going just long enough for Amy and Dan to search Disco Volante. Yikes, she reflected suddenly, I'm starting to think like a Cahill.... And if she was nuts enough to hang around this family, it was only going to get worse.

So it's true what they say about warlocks, then?"Alec gave him a very unpleasant look. "What's true?""Alexander," said Magnus coldly, and Clary met Simon's eyes across the table. Hers were wide, green, and full of an expression that said Uh-oh. "You can't be rude to everyone who talks to me."Alec made a wide, sweeping gesture. "And why not? Cramping your style, am I? I mean, maybe you were hoping to flirt with werewolf boy here. He's pretty attractive, if you like the messy-haired, broad-shouldered, chiseled-good-looks type.""Hey, now," said Jordan mildly. Magnus put his head in his hands. "Or there are plenty of pretty girls here, since apparently your taste goes both ways, Is there anything you aren't into?""Mermaids," said Magnus into his fingers. "They always smell like seaweed.""It's not funny," Alec said savagely, and kicking back his chair, he got up from the table and stalked off into the crowd.

Are you okay with what we ordered?” Angeline asked him. “You didn’t pipe up with any requests.” Neil shook his head, face stoic. He kept his dark hair in a painfully short and efficient haircut. It was the kind of no-nonsense thing the Alchemists would’ve loved. “I can’t waste time quibbling over trivial things like pepperoni and mushrooms. If you’d gone to my school in Devonshire, you’d understand. For one of my sophomore classes, they left us alone on the moors to fend for ourselves and learn survival skills. Spend three days eating twigs and heather, and you’ll learn not to argue about any food coming your way.” Angeline and Jill cooed as though that was the most rugged, manly thing they’d ever heard. Eddie wore an expression that reflected what I felt, puzzling over whether this guy was as serious as he seemed or just some genius with swoon-worthy lines.

So, Mr. Digence, home to visit the family?""That's right. My mother's folks are from Killarney.""Oh, really?""O'Reilly, actually. But what's a vowel between friends?""Very good. You should be on the stage.""It's funny you should mention that."The passport officer groaned. Ten more minutes and his shift would have been over. "I was being sarcastic, actually. . .""Because my friend, Mr. McGuire, and I are also doing a stint in the Christmas pantomime. It's Snow White. I'm Doc, and he's Dopey."The passport officer forced a smile. "Very good. Next."Mulch spoke for the entire line to hear. "Of course, Mr. McGuire there was born to play Dopey, if you catch my drift."Loafers lost it right there in the terminal. "You little freak!" he screamed. "I'll kill you! You'll be my next tattoo! You'll be my next tattoo!"Much tutted as Loafers disappeared beneath half a dozen security guards."Actors," he said. "Highly strung.

Remember Stalingrad. Remember the crash of 1929. Remember the Industrial Revolution. Now remember that I am the proletariat cog in the machine that causes the meltdown of the aristocratic assembly line. Ben Franklin was a man of vision. Ben wore bifocals. Agatha was a beautiful woman. But if she were standing on her head, she’d look like Walt Disney. She’d often make me feel as small as Mickey Mouse. I am the elevator of love. So why’d she have to take the stairs? I am a rational being. She rationed her love like loaves of bread in times of famine. She was my feminine famine. I ate her love like it was cabbage soup, minus the cabbage; I drank it up like water. She pissed me off like a mouth-shaped urinal that liked to spread, like peanut butter, nasty rumors about the size of my penis. Three inches. That was the width of my love for Agatha. Three and a half years. That was the length of my love for her. 2009. That was the height of my love for her.

Isn’t it so weird how the number of dead people is increasing even though the earth stays the same size, so that one day there isn’t going to be room to bury anyone anymore? For my ninth birthday last year, Grandma gave me a subscription to National Geographic, which she calls “the National Geographic.” She also gave me a white blazer, because I only wear white clothes, and it’s too big to wear so it will last me a long time. She also gave me Grandpa’s camera, which I loved for two reasons. I asked why he didn’t take it with him when he left her. She said, “Maybe he wanted you to have it.” I said, “But I was negative-thirty years old.” She said, “Still.” Anyway, the fascinating thing was that I read in National Geographic that there are more people alive now than have died in all of human history. In other words, if everyone wanted to play Hamlet at once, they couldn’t, because there aren’t enough skulls!

If history teaches us anything, it’s that governments are always right, and they always do what’s in the best interest of the people, even at the expense of their own political agenda. In every situation, the answer is always more government and more regulation. If there are six billion people in the world, then all six billion should work for the government. More, if we could. And there should be at least twice as many laws as there are people in the world. And with more laws means more lawyers, so it’s a double benefit. It’s a win-win for both the government and the citizens, which of course there won’t be because in this utopian dream there are no citizens, there is only the government. The best part is the taxes will be super high, but they’re paid in full by the printing presses of the Geodesic Dome Society. Full benefits, zero unemployment, no chance of being fired, and a world so efficient it would make Rube Goldberg look like Fred Taylor or Henry Ford.

Yes, an actual full-sized camel. If you find that confusing, just think how the criosphinx must have felt.Where did the camel come from, you ask? I may have mentioned Walt’s collection of amulets. Two of them summoned disgusting camels. I’dmet them before, so I was less than excited when a ton of dromedary flesh flew across my line of sight, plowed into the sphinx, and collapsed on topof it. The sphinx growled in outrage as it tried to free itself. The camel grunted and farted.“Hindenburg,” I said. Only one camel could possibly fart that badly. “Walt, why in the world—?”“Sorry!” he yelled. “Wrong amulet!”The technique worked, at any rate. The camel wasn’t much of a fighter, but it was quite heavy and clumsy. The criosphinx snarled and clawedat the floor, trying unsuccessfully to push the camel off; but Hindenburg just splayed his legs, made alarmed honking sounds, and let loose gas.I moved to Walt’s side and tried to get my bearings.

The Puffer Fish: Wherein the author flaunts his vocabulary.His father was IRA and his mother was Quebecois, and they had reliquished their mortal coils in the internecine conflagration that ended their conjoined separatist movement, IRA-Q. The appellation he was given by his progenitors was Ray O'Vaque ("Like the battery," he'd elucidate, with an adamantine stare that proscribed any mirth). In his years of incarceration, however, he had earned the sobriquet "Uncle Milty" for his piscine amatory habits.He had been emancipated from the penitentiary for three weeks, and now his restless peregrinations had conveyed him to this liminal place, seeking compurgation in the permafrost of the hyperborean tundra, which was an apt analogue of the permafrost in his heart. He insinuated himself into the caravansary with nugatory expectations, which were confirmed by the exiguous provisions for comfort. But then the bartender looked up from laving the begrimed bar, his eyes growing luminous as he ejactulated, "Milt!

There's a tavern by the docks. He's there most evenings.""Then I'll talk to him tonight," Halt said."You can try. But he's a hard case, Halt. I'm not sure you'll get anything out of him. He's not interested in money. I tried that.""Well, perhaps he'll do it out of the goodness of his heart. I'm sure he'll open up to me," Halt said easily. But Horace noticed a gleam in his eye. He was right: the prospect of having something to do had reawakened Halt's spirits. He had a score to settle, and Horace found himself thinking that it didn't bode well for this Black O'Malley character.Will eyes Halt doubtfully, however. "You think so."Halt smiled at him. "People love talking to me," he said. "I'm an excellent conversationalist and I have a sparkling personality. Ask Horace. I've been bending his ear all the way from Dun Kilty, haven't I?"Horace nodded confirmation. "Talking nonstop all the way, he's been," he said. "Be glad to see him turn all that chatter onto someone else.

Cover me!' Augustus said as he jumped out from behind the wall and raced toward the school. Isaac fumbled for his controller and thenstarted firing while the bullets rained down on Augustus, who was shot once and then twice but still ran, Augustus shouting,'YOU CAN’T KILL MAX MAYHEM!' and with a final flurry of button combinations, he dove onto the grenade, which detonated beneath him. His dismembered body exploded like a geyser and the screen went red. A throaty voice said, 'MISSION FAILURE,' but Augustus seemed to think otherwise as he smiled at his remnants on the screen. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and shoved it between his teeth.'Saved the kids' he said.'Temporarily' I pointed out.'All salvation is temporary' Augustus shot back. 'I bought them a minute. Maybe that’s the minute that buys them an hour, which is the hour that buys them a year. No one’s gonna buy them forever, Hazel Grace, but my life bought them a minute. And that’s not nothing.