...because Really, Sometimes The Irony Gods Just

Harold Brodie Is A Louse And A Lothario Who Cheats At Cards And Has A Different Girl In His Rumble Seat Every Week. That Coupe Of His Is Pos-i-tute-ly A Petting Palace. And He’s A Terrible Kisser To Boot.” Evie’s Parents Stared In Stunned Silence. “or So I’ve Heard.

Petra Turned To Her. "everybody Lies About Who They Are. Name One Person Here Who Isn't Doing That And I Will Drop Out Right Now!" Shanti Felt That Snake Of Truth Coil Around Her Legs, Threatening To Squeeze. "i Didn't Mean..." "no One Ever Does." Petra Said, Shoving The Baton Back At Shanti.

There Is A Dualism Inherent In Democracy--opposing Forces Pushing Against Each Other, Always. Culture Clashes. Different Belief Systems. All Coming Together To Create This Country. But This Balance Takes A Great Deal Of Energy.

It's As If I've Inherited A Skin I Cannot Quite Fit, And So I Walk About Constantly Pulling And And Tugging, Pinning And Pruning, Trying Desperately To Fill It Out, Hoping That No One Will Look At Me Struggling And Say, 'that One There- She's A Fraud, Look How She Doesn't Fit At All.

But Sons Are A Different Matter To A Man. More A Duty Than An Indulgence.