People will jump through hoops if you just make them feel like a god.
Anybody's true nature is bullshit. There is no human soul. Emotion is bullshit. Love is bullshit. And I'm dragging Paige down the hallway.
We live and we die and anything else is just delusion. It's just passive chick bullshit about feelings and sensitivity. Just made-up subjective emotional crap. There is no soul. There is no God. There's just decisions and disease and death.
Women don't want equal rights. They have more power being oppressed. They need men to be the vast enemy conspiracy. Their whole identity is based on it.
Sitting in traffic, my heart would beat at regular speed. I'm not alone. Trapped there, I could just be a normal person headed home to a wife, kids, a house. I could pretend that my life was more than just waiting for the next disaster. That I knew how to function. The way other kids would "play house," I could play commuter.
"It's pathetic," Paige says, "how we can't live with the things we can't understand. How if we can't explain something we'll just deny it."
Painting a picture, composing an opera, that's just something you do until you find the next willing piece of ass.
I mean, what could ever be better than sex?
For sure, even the worst blow job is better than, say, sniffing the best rose... watching the greatest sunset. Hearing children laugh.
I think that I shall never see a poem as lovely as a hot-gushing, butt-cramping, guthosing orgasm.
Painting a picture, composing an opera, that's just something you do until you find the next willing piece of ass.
This person will be proud of you because you make them so proud of themselves.