Tag Archive Browsing Tag: a confederacy of dunces

Therefore, my size itself is a safeguard against my ever sinking too low within the structure of our civilization. I was there  — on the very rim of our age — when my mother’s cataclysmic intemperance, as you well know, catapulted me into the fever of contemporary existence (pp. 195-196). (H/T to Cory McLaughlin for the…

The grandeur of my physique, the complexity of my worldview, the decency and taste implicit in my carriage, the grace with which I function in the mire of today’s world — all of these at once confuse and astound Clyde. Now he has relegated me to working in the French Quarter, an area which houses…

Lana studied Jones’ face, but his eyes were invisible behind the smoke and dark glasses. “The only thing you ever be givin the orphan is siphlus. Whoa! Do gimme no shit about no mutherfuckin record player. As soon as I crack open this orphan case, I calling a po-lice myself. I sick and tire of…

Lana Lee was on a barstool, her legs crossed in tan suede trousers, her muscular buttocks pinning the stool to the floor and commanding it to support her in perfectly vertical form. When she moved slightly, the great muscles of her nether cheeks rippled to life to prevent the stool from leaning and tottering even…

“This liberal doxy must be impaled upon the member of a particularly large stallion,” Ignatius mumbled furiously (p. 185). a confederacy of duncesJohn Kennedy Toolenew orleansphilosophical literature

“It seems to me that you would be generous enough to give some sort of discount to your own employees,” Ignatius said importantly after an audit of the day’s receipts showed that, upon subtracting the cost of the hot dogs he had eaten, his take-home pay for the day was exactly a dollar and twenty-five…

“You get mostly the tourist trade in the Quarter.” “That’s even worse. Only degenerates go touring. Personally, I have been out of the city only once. By the way, have I ever told you about that particular pilgrimage to Baton Rouge? Outside the city limits there are many horrors.”  “. . . Fortunately, I’ve written…

“We got a complaint on you from the Board of Health, Reilly.” “Oh, is that all? From the expression on your face, I thought that you were having some sort of epileptic seizure,” Ignatius said to Mr. Clyde through his mouthful of hot dog and bun, bumping his wagon into the garage. “I am afraid…

Mrs. Levy was a woman of interests and ideals. Over the years she ad given herself freely to bridge, African violets, Susan and Sandra, golf, Miami, Fanny Hurst and Hemingway, correspondence courses, hairdressers, the sun, gourmet food, ballroom dancing, and, in recent years, Miss Trixie. She always had to settle for Miss Trixie at a…