Charlie felt a lump rising in his throat. No one had ever called him Daddy before, not even a puppet. (He had once asked Rachel, “Who’s your daddy?” during sex, to which she had replied, “Saul Goldstein,” thus rendering him impotent for a week and raising all kinds of issues that he didn’t really like to think about.)
— Christopher Moore, A Dirty Job ‎· let's have each other with cream
[дочитал в рамках подготовки к грядущим Secondhand Souls. неплохой, но чото как-то до последних романов не дотягивает. вот и посмотрим, это из-за фабулы или Крис пишет теперь лучше] ‎· let's have each other with cream
“Chill, Asher.” Lily giggled. “I know what you mean. I’m not going to tell anyone—except Abby knows—but she doesn’t care. She says she’s met some guy who’s her dark lord. She’s in that stage where she thinks a dick is some kind of mystical magic wand.” Charlie adjusted his hamster box uncomfortably. “Girls go through a stage like that?” Why was he just hearing about this now? Even the hamsters looked uncomfortable. ‎· let's have each other with cream
Then he read a book, called The Last Sack, about how to kill yourself with a plastic bag, but it must not have been a very effective book, because he saw on the back cover that there had been two sequels. He imagined the fan mail: "Dear Last Sack Author: I was almost dead, but then my sack got all steamed up and I couldn’t see the TV, so I poked an eyehole. I hope to try again with your next book." The book really didn’t help Charlie much, except to instill in him a new paranoia about plastic bags. ‎· let's have each other with cream
“I suppose the hand job wasn’t such a great idea,” mocked Macha’s hand puppet. “I did that on the battlefields of the North, what, ten thousand times?” said Babd. “A final wank for the dying warrior—just seemed like the least I could do. I’m especially good at it, you know. It takes a powerful touch to keep a soldier hard when his guts are running between his fingers.” ‎· let's have each other with cream