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Farty old men of postwar lit edition!
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“Hey. I'm the real Jesus. I am the black Jesus, right? There is none other, no. When I fart, lightning flashes, right? Angels scoop it up in shovels of zillioncarat gold. Right?” *
20 points
"Mark my words: as soon as some scoundrel discovers there is a profit to be made off of the American kid's love of the fart, they will be selling artificial farts in balloons at the circus. And you can just imagine what they'll smell like too. Like everything artificial.” *
20 points
“We didn’t start all this just to search out a comforting headstone, God knows. No, no, in the end, in truth, we are left virtually with nothing: an overlooked eyetooth, the P.A. left howling, a stained and broken ostrich feather, the faint after-odor of the fireman’s fart. Abandoned. And a good fifteen, twenty minutes shot to hell.” *
20 points
“No two men’s farts smell alike in the entire universe. Like snowflakes and fingerprints." *
20 points
"She gave him the length of her nose, not a hair—not a fart—from her quim. Ha. Ha ha. Flighty. Notional. Picky. Poky too. Thin." *
20 points
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