Every piece of this is man’s bullshit. They call this war “a cloud over the land” but they made the weather and then they stand in the rain and say “Shit, it’s rainin’!”
Number one – shut this door, it’s freezing. Number two – shut that door, it’s freezing. I’m laying on my back, with my fingers poked in my ears trying to shut out who’s got a bag of diamonds and who’s carrying a tray. If you want to get three feet up a bull’s ass, listen to what sweethearts whisper to each other. Now, if you’re going to wimble wimble all night, I’m going to sleep in with him.
Every piece of this is man’s bullshit. They call this war a cloud over the land. But they made the weather and then they stand in the rain and say ‘Shit, it’s raining!’
Just so you know – you’re not eating inside. Number one: they hang people round here for taking in deserters. Number two: even if they gave out prizes you’d still eat outside.
We got our own story. Called Black Cove Farm: a catastrophe. I can spell it, too. Learned it the same place you did, in the school room. One of the first words they taught me. “Ruby Thewes, you are a c-a-t-a-s-t-r-o-p-h-e!”
