It’s amazing, Molly. The love inside, you take it with you. See ya.
I was a child. I was in love. It was wrong and you knew it!
[motioning to Pugsley] He’s only a child.
It was Christmas Eve. I was 9 years old. Me and Mom were decorating the tree, waiting for Dad to come home from work. A couple hours went by. Dad wasn’t home. So Mom called the office. No answer. Christmas Day came and went, and still nothing. So the police began a search. Four or five days went by. Neither one of us could eat or sleep. Everything was falling apart. It was snowing outside. The house was freezing, so I went to try to light up the fire. That’s when I noticed the smell. The firemen came and broke through the chimney top. And me and Mom were expecting them to pull out a dead cat or a bird…and instead, they pulled out my father. He was dressed in a Santa Claus suit. He’d been climbing down the chimney, his arms loaded with presents. He was gonna surprise us. He slipped and broke his neck. He died instantly. And that’s how I found out there was no Santa Claus.
“But you go ahead Henry, you do it your way. You go on back in there and tell them that you rule there is no Santy Claus. Go on. But if you do, remember this: you can count on getting just two votes, your own and that district attorney’s out there.”
“The DA’s a Republican.”
Bah, humbug.
Naddafinga!
Now he said,* “Sic’em, boy!” But what I heard was, “Chopper! Sic balls!”*
There aren’t more choppers coming?
This episode was badly written!
I found it a bit melodramatic. That’s only my opinion, my flatmate was moved to tears. So, there you are.
Well, you should have seen the cover they wanted to do. It wasn’t a glove, believe me!
“I don’t believe it.”
“Googly-Bear?”
“I’m on the cover of a magazine!”
"Ziskey Rates The Russians: ‘They’re Pussies!’ " [cover of Guts magazine]
Now look. The Post: “It Flies.” The News: “Look, Ma, No Wires.” The Times: “Blue Bomb Buzzes Metropolis.” The Planet. We’re sitting on top of the story of the century here! I want the name of this flying whatchamacallit to go with the Daily Planet like bacon and eggs, franks and beans, death and taxes, politics and corruption.
Did you read these headlines? Huh? “JEWEL HEIST ON MAIN STREET!” And it’s nice bold print, isn’t it? “Lady Holiday’s Jewels Stolen,” that’s what it says in The Times. And here’s The Herald: “Fashion Queen Of London Robbed.” And last, but not least, here’s our cute little banner story: “Identical Twins Join The Chronicle Staff.” Now I ask you, which would you buy?
Best investigative reporting on the planet. But go ahead, read the New York Times if you want. They get lucky sometimes.
Look, there are two thousand reporters in this town, are there five on Watergate? When did the Washington Post suddenly get the monopoly on wisdom?
Stop the presses!
You’re terminated, fucker!