As The Author You Know How You

It Figures You've Got To Hate Yourself If You've Got Any Integrity At All.

Bisexuality Immediately Doubles Your Chances For A Date On Saturday Night.

Death Is An Acquired Trait.

Pale, Nervous Girls With Black-rimmed Glasses And Blunt-cut Hair Lolled Around On Sofas, Riffling Penguin Classics Provocatively. [...] But It Wasn’t Just Intellectual Experiences—they Were Peddling Emotional Ones, Too. For Fifty Bucks, I Learned, You Could “relate Without Getting Close.” For A Hundred, A Girl Would Lend You Her Bartok Records, Have Dinner, And Then Let You Watch While She Had An Anxiety Attack.

It's Funny. Maria Elena And I, We Are Meant For Each Other And Not Meant For Each Other, It's A Contradiction.