Paris, France, 1789. Thirty years later, under the reign of Louis XVI, longstanding grievances between aristocrat and peasant were about to boil over. The pot in which these troubles boiled was kindled with the firewood of oppression and injustice and heated by the flames that sucked the air from gasping peasants. Would the pot cool off, would it merely simmer, or would it boil over in the kitchen of France - to stain the floor of history forever?
My DARLING, you did NOT cheat, you TOLD me about it. If you HADN’T told me about it, THAT would have been cheating!
Imperial battleship! STOP the FLOW of TIME!
Yes, I am the devil, but you can call me Will… or Peaches. I really long for affection.
Those who know … know.
Arise my wives. Give ear to the words of Manos. Arise my wives! And hear the will of Manos!
This is not an occult science. This is not one of those crazy systems of divination and astrology. That stuff’s hooey, and you’ve got to have a screw loose to go in for that sort of thing. Our beliefs are fairly commonplace and simple to understand. Humankind is simply materialized color operating on the 49th vibration. You would make that conclusion walking down the street or going to the store.
On second thought, let’s not go to Camelot. It is a silly place.
You know, when a woman looks at you like that, it usually means something.
We got no food, no jobs… our PETS’ HEADS ARE FALLING OFF!
It was vicious. Had some pretty cool seniors though. Like, they’d beat the hell out of you and then get you drunk, that sort of thing.
You mean the secret password is Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch?
I’m so glad i shaved my balls today.
My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink, he would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Some times he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy, the sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical, summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we’d make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds, pretty standard really. At the age of 12 I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen, a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum, it’s breathtaking, I suggest you try it.
No, this is me in a nutshell. Help! I’m in a nutshell! How did I get into this nutshell? Look at the size of this bloody great big nutshell! What sort of shell has a nut like this? This is crazy!
If you can’t trust the Governments of the world, who can you trust?
Finally you take me like a man, like a… Congress man!
Let me go! I’m not fit to be a senator! I’m not fit to live! Expel me, not him! Willet Dam is a fraud! It’s a crime against the people who sent me here - and I committed it! Every word that boy said is the truth! Every word about Taylor and me and graft and the rotten political corruption of my state! Every word of it is true! I’m not fit for office! I’m not fit for any place of honor or trust! Expel me, not that boy!
Space herpes!
What are you getting mad at ME for? HE’S the one who ate your father!