fucking jackass bastards are everywhere. The world is full of pigs!

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I carry my two books to the counter, wondering what bookbuyers around me would do if they knew I’m the author of fourteen published novels — a great artist. They’d probably mob me, beg for my autograph, touch my magic coat, and the pretty young girls among them would try to stick their tongues up my ass. But I can’t say anything — it’d only stamp me as a braggart and a hack. Besides, intellectuals have contempt for books like mine. They don’t realize that the great archetypal hallucinations of our times are contained within so-called trashy books, while literary establishment authors like Updike, Barth, Roth — that ilk — are effete dilettantes who should be teaching lit courses in colleges, and in fact many of them are, the scumbags.

This is the land of knee-tremblers and wee bastards

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"I want you to get on your knees, eat my pussy like a rat eat cheese."

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Eddie was committed to partying and "acting crazy" as a way of life. Attempts to get him to "clean up his place" (translation: "get rid of the niggers") were greeted by him with total contempt. He antagonized police, other club owners, and anyone else he considered "square," and reveled in his own defiant stance. After two in the morning, when bars are supposed to be clear of patrons, he would lock the door, draw the curtains, and party with the players, laughing, loud-talking, snorting cocaine, and serving drinks after hours. "Ready Eddie," as he was known, presided over what he proudly dubbed "the Toilet of the Street." He had no intention of running a square or respectable joint and was furious at the predictable official attempts to force him into compliance. "They just want to get my friends out of here," he would bellow, "they don't want no niggers on their street. Well, fuck them punks in the asshole!" This attitude was well appreciated and respected.

she’d put that used manhood of his down the garbage disposal unit.

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“Shit,” she mumbled. “Why in hell I ever come to this creep dive I don’t know. What do you know about anything anyway? You sit there with them big black cigars, lettin’ the ashes go down between your boobs, and you swig this rot gut all day, and you don’t never get out of that chair. What in hell do you know what’s going on outside them swinging doors? You ain’t seen the street out there since it was a dirt path.”

“I don’t get out much no more, now that’s a fact. But I got a regular telegraph system that sends me everything of interest that goes on around this town. And not only this town, but everyplace else. Like I know Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday are making the scene too. Now there’s a couple I’d damn well pay plenty to see in action. I seen them in a gunfight once. But I’d sure like to see how they get each other’s gun off.” She laughed her loud hacking laugh until the entire place shook. “That’s the only two men I ever think I’d like to see doin’ it… since I ain’t partial to anything a man’s got, ‘ceptin’ his gold.”

Parents bothering you, kid? Blow out their ears with Chuck Berry

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I mean I have seen unusual performers, but this kid Iggy Stooge, this former high school valedictorian and most-likely-to-succeed was like nothing else. He bent over backwards and nearly touched his head to the floor. He massaged the mike stand. A photographer standing there remarked that Iggy was incredible because everything he touched turned into a cock! He was on his back writhing on the stage singing about not having any fun. No fun! Autoerotic rock and roll! Iggy scratched his chest and belly with a drum stick and then with his fingernails, and he was singing about fucking you, and doing this to you, and he was pointing at a girl a few feet from the stage. A kid behind her, with short hair and a college jacket, gives Iggy the finger! Iggy stops singing, crouches. Then he springs into the audience, and lands on all fours in front of the kid, who now is wondering why he is here. Iggy is staring at the kid, and slowly begins to walk on all fours. The kid begins to sweat and look around for friends. There is shouting and much pushing and all 2,500 people are standing, straining to see. The crowd is aflame, for reasons they do not know. Iggy is challenging everything they have come to accept about concert relationships, and about male sexuality. The males with the short hair and the Corvettes feel it and they don't know what to do with the feeling. Some of them are throwing containers of orange drink at him. Rock and roll! What is going on? There is more screaming and pushing. Everyone is trying to see, jumping to see. You can't see. Iggy crawls back out of the audience onto the stage, finishes the song and the group walks off. They have been onstage only about fifteen minutes.

I pulled his pants down and began to suck him. He had a small- to medium-sized one. I have never seen a British musician who had a decent-sized cock. I guess it's all that tea they drink and the smog. He got hard right off and I asked him if he wanted to come. He said, later, and I sucked him for a while longer and then he pulled me up and took off my clothes. He was good, sort of. While we were fucking I kept hearing his song. I didn't come but he did, and grunted, just like at the end of the song. He said he was sorry I didn't come and he ate me until I did. He was good at that. I have never seen a British musician who wasn't. They must build up muscles in their tongues, having to talk like that all the time.

"That's what young people call being Mod. You have to learn to like it."

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"You've really gone all the way with this hippie shit, haven't you?"

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She was talking on the phone, I heard my name mentioned. I stopped to listen ... "No ... But she was going to leave again! My own daughter wouldn't stay with me! I wouldn't tell anyone in the world but you, Mary." ... "A hippie, I think." ... "He must be something in bed, is all I can say." ... "I don't know where she gets it. Not from me! Probably from Robert and his side of the family. All he can think about is sex, too." ... "No, I should say not! I cut him off a long time ago. Dirty, filthy business!" … "Yes, the little bitch is the same way. You should have heard her with David last night ... just moaning and groaning in there on her bed. I'm surprised the whole neighborhood didn't hear her! It's unnatural to enjoy it that much! I never got anything out of it at all, but then, Robert never was much of a lover as far as style goes." ... "Well, you know ... stick it in, puff and grunt, and that's it." ... "I wouldn't be surprised if she does it. With those hippies. They've probably taught her every perversion in the book." ... "Every woman fakes that! I never once got any pleasure from it!" ... "I don't want to talk about it, Mary." ... "She'll end up a little two-bit whore. All this enjoyment of sex!" ... "She's nothing but a selfish, ungrateful, whiny, sniveling little sex-crazy bitch"

She thought, I want someone to lick it, soothe it like a cat lapping cream

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"I've never heard you speak like this, Carol."

"Don't you know, darling, that it's very hard for me to adapt to other men. You broke me in very uniquely. I don't think any of them could possibly service me."

"I don't want them to. I don't want another man to touch you."

"And women?"

"That's disgusting."

"Didn't you have Harry in prison, Phillip? You can be honest with me."

"What is this, third degree? Words like 'have' and 'have not.'"

"I notice, that since your return, you have had an almost incessant desire to put your remarkable cock in me from the rear."

"Your cunt and ass are remarkably similar, my sweet."

"How could you."

"And I love both equally. You must know that. I think of your cunt every time I look at you. I can't watch your mouth without wanting to push myself into it. Forgive me if I think of you as a creature with numerous convenient openings. But you don't know how a prick aches sometimes. You can't imagine."