Ignatius looked sternly at the young boy who had placed himself in the wagon’s path. His valve protested against the pimples, the surly face that seemed to hang from the long well-luricated hair, the cigarette behind the ear, the aquamarine jacket, the delicate boots, the tight trousers that bulged offensively in the crotch in violation…
She described to Ignatius the courage of Patrolman Mancuso, who against heavy odds, was fighting to retain his job, who wanted to work, who was making the best of his torture and exile in the bathroom at the bus station. Patrolman Mancuso’s situation reminded Ignatius of the situation of Boethius, when he was imprisoned by…
Apparently I lack some particular perversion which today’s employer is now seeking. a confederacy of duncesJohn Kennedy Toolenew orleansphilosophical literature
“Go dangle your withered parts over the toilet!” Ignatius screamed savagely. “Oh, shut up your little pussymouth, you mongoloid.” “A little job in a office and you can’t hold it down. With all your education.” “I was hated and resented,” Ignatius said, casting a hurt expression at the brown walls of the kitchen. He pulled…
Just released. This news comes as a wonderful surprise to those of us who thought that the Booker catalogue release-wise had already been exhausted. I’m especially keen to hear Booker on the organ. James Bookernew orleanspiano
He dramatically whipped from his pelvis the sheet, flapping it open. Among the yellow stains the word FORWARD was printed in high block letters in red crayon. Below this Crusade for Moorish Dignity was written in an intricate blue script. “Sheet? What sheet!” Ignatius replied. “I am holding before you the proudest of banners, an…
“We shall storm the office very shortly, thereby surprising the foe when his senses are still subject to the psychic mists of early morning.” “Hey, Mr. R., pardon me,” a man called out from the crowd. “Somebody tell me you in trouble with a po-lice. Is that right?” A wave of anxiety and uneasiness broke…
“Ain that fine. Whoa! I never go to school more than two year in my life. My momma out washing other people clothin, ain nobody talking about school. I spen all my time rollin tire aroun the street. I’m rollin, momma washing, nobody learning nothin. Shit! Who looking for a tire roller to give them…
“The problem come from not havin no vocation skill,” Jones was saying to Mr. Watson. Jones was perched on a wooden stool, his legs bent under him like ice tongs ready to pick up the stool and boldly carry it away before Mr. Watson’s old eyes. “If I had some trainin I wouldn be mopping…
Your total ignorance of that which you profess to teach merits the death penalty. I doubt whether you would know that St. Cassian of Imola was stabbed to death by his students with their styli. His death, a martyr’s honorable one, made him a patron saint of teachers. Pray to him, you deluded fool, you…
manwithoutqualities 