Why, The Little Voice Inside My Head,

Like A Good Song, Life Has Verses, The Goliards Had Taught Me. Each Verse Has To Be Sung. It Takes All Of Them To Make A Song. It Is The Entire Chanson You Name, But When You Think Of It, When You Smile, It Is A Favorite Verse That Delights Your Ears.

Bombs Are Good. I Love Bombs."--iggy

Sighing, She Gave A Brief Nod. “i Was Supposed To Win. I Was Supposed To Finish You Off. They Never Counted On You Winning. And Then You Didn’t Kill Me. It Was Awful.” “you’re Welcome,” I Said, Feeling Fresh Anger Ignite. “i’ll Try Not To Humiliate You By Letting You Live Next Time.” (max Ii To Max)

You're Children. Don't You Want A Home, A Family?" "with, Like, Vitamin-fortified Cereal And Educational Television?

Listen, Street Punk. You're A Guy, And You're A Couple Inches Taller, And Maybe Forty Pounds Heavier, And Ooh, You're In A Gang. But I've Survived Ten Years Of Catholic School, And I Will Cut You Off At Your Knees Without A Blink. Do You Understand?