I Will Never, Ever Drink Whiskey Again.

What Hamlet Suffers From Is A Lack Of Zombies. Let Us Say Rosencrantz And Guildenstern Show Up—ho-ho! Now You’ve Got Something That Stirs The, Um, Something That Stirs Things That Are Stirrable. Boom! A Pack Of Ravenous Flesh-eaters Breaks Open Their Heads And Sucks Out Their Eyeballs. No Need For Iambic Pentameter Because They Are Grunting, Groaning Annihilators Of Humanity With No Time For Meter. You’re Not Asleep In The Back Of English Class Anymore, Are You? This Is What I’m Talking About. Zombies. Learn It, Live It, Love It.

On The Bowery, In The Ornate Carcass Of A Formerly Grand Vaudeville Theater, A Dance Marathon Limps Along. The Contestants, Young Girls And Their Fellas, Hold One Another Up, Determined To Make Their Mark, To Bite Back At The Dreams Sold To Them In Newspaper Advertisements And On The Radio. They Have Sores On Their Feet But Stars In Their Eyes.

In Books, The Truth Makes Everything Good And Fine. The Good Prevail. The Wicked Are Punished. There Is Happiness. But It's Not Like That Really, Is It?" "no," I Say. "i Suppose It Only Makes Everything Known.

Scoring Well On Tests Is The Sort Of Happy Thing That Gets The School District The Greenbacks They Crave. Understanding And Appreciating The Material Are Secondary.

I'm Sorry,' He Says Simply. 'people Make Mistakes, Gemma. We Take The Wrong Action For The Right Reasons, And The Right Action For The Wrong Reasons.