Why The Hell Can't People Just Write

My Only Requirement For That First Story Was That There Had To Be A Fight Or An Explosion On Every Page. Naturally, No One Wanted To Publish It, But I Liked The Character, Did A Few Stories To Keep My Hand In.

I Didn't Really Think About Becoming A Professional Artist Until High School, When I Realized That Everything Else Required Too Much Math.

Why The Hell Can't People Just Write Nice Happy Stories About People Having Happy Sex? That's What I Want, And I Bet A Whole Bunch Of Other People Want It Too.

Marie Clasped Her Hands Together And Looked Vulnerable. Payne Flinched. “the Only Time You Don’t Tell Me Something Is When You Think It’s Dangerous, Because Being A Fragile, Sheltered Noblewoman, I Might Faint At The Thought Of Experiencing Physical Harm Like A Common Person.” She Sighed, And Seemingly From Nowhere, Produced An Enormous Cast-iron Frying Pan Easily One Hundred Centimeters In Diameter. “and Then,” She Said Sadly, “i Have To Damage One Of The Good Pans By Smacking It Against Your Thick, Common Skull Until You Tell Me—

Klaus Wulfenbach: Was My Son Upset? Bangladesh Dupree: Oh, Him? Yeah! He's All Set To Be A Hero And Rescue Her--and Then He Finds Out He'd Need Fireplace Tongs To Get Her Undressed? Yeah, Upset Is The Word.