Christopher Brookmyre Quotes

It's that ambient dance pish that Parlabane always hears at trendy gatherings but which no bastard would ever choose to listen to for their own entertainment. The

Is it colour?'
'Oh yes.'
'You don't let me down.You are my ambassador to pr0n, man.

Twenty-first century communications technology rendering the planet not so much global village as global schoolroom full of sniggering male virgins and bitchy female hypocrites.

There are certain mistakes that you know you just have to make, know you're going to make, no matter what conscience, logic or fear are telling you. It's a simple truth of human existence. Across thousands of years of civilisation, throughout the rise and fall of empires and our stumbling ascent from the forests to the stars, greater men than Zal had contemplated the wisdom of their intentions before coming to exactly the same conclusion.
And there was usually a girl involved, yeah.

St Michael's RC secondary sat on a promontory overlooking the town of Auchenlea. The choice of site was an indirect consequence of a past mistake in vocational guidance, leading someone who had a pathological hatred of children into town planning, rather than the more traditional field of teaching.

Was there anything quite so under-rated in this shallow, plastic, global-corporate, tall-skinny-late, kiddy-meal-and-free-toy, united-colours-of-fuck-you-too world, than a good old-fashioned, no-frills, retail blow-job?

This is Glesca ... Any time you're confused, take a wee minute to remind yourself of that inescapable fact: this is Glesca. We don't do subtle, we don't do nuanced, we don't do conspiracy. We do pish-heid bampot bludgeoning his girlfriend to death in a fit of paranoid rage induced by forty-eight hours straight on the batter. We do coked-up neds jumping on a guy's heid outside a nightclub because he looked at them funny. We do drug-dealing gangster rockets shooting other drug-dealing gangster rockets as comeback for something almost identical a fortnight ago. We do bam-on-bam. We do tit-for-tat, score-settling, feuds, jealousy, petty revenge. We do straightforward. We do obvious. We do cannaemisswhodunit. When you hear hoofbeats on Sauchiehall Street, it's gaunny be a horse, no' a zebra ... '.

Stealing is the worst kind of cheating. It's cheating at life, son. It's for folk that arenae any good at life, so they have to cheat.

And what is it with these fucking people and teenage virgins anyway? Have they ever actually shagged one? I have, more than once, and none of the encounters would appear on my list of sexual highlights.

Told you I had some flavours," she said. "You like?"
Ross just gaped, and possibly trembled a little.
"You, er, made that yourself?"
"Yeah. That's what pisses me off about this place. You could be any incarnation of womanhood you an think of - so why do so many choose to conform to some fifteen-year-old dork's idea of it? Even in a world like Calastria, they'll still choose an appearance that's defined by sexuality. Do they think the guys try to look sexy when they're suiting up to fight dragons?"
"Er, not so much," Ross agreed, but her last remark had inadvertently channelled his inner fifteen-year-old dork. "There's going to be dragons?" he asked.

My reaction to your news is delighted astonishment that Lanark has been judged more popular than a book by Ian Rankin, and only regret that this wonderful honour had no money attached to it!

Truth was, if you were going to believe something, it was best to believe in stuff that made the world seem a more interesting place.

I can't ask you to banish your fears, your anxiety or your anger...But don't let them use you up.

He spent a very uncomfortable few moments trying to remember his prepared position for explaining to God that he had nonetheless been right not to believe in Him on the basis of all available evidence, and that his empiricism and advocacy of sceptical enquiry was vindicated because faith-based belief had proven hugely detrimental to humankind's welfare. At the same time, another part of his brain was busy thinking: Please don't let the Catholics be right, please don't let the Catholics be right.

Just for a while": Death's opening chat-up line in His great seduction, before he drugged you with soporific comforts, distracted you with minor luxuries and ensnared you with long-term payment plans.
Join the Rat Race "just for a while."
Concentrate on your career "just for a while."
Move in with your girlfriend "just for a while."
Find a bigger place, out in the burbs "just for a while."
Lie down in that wooden box "just for a while.

Love Is: being able to keep your fucking mouth shut.

You're with Rapier squad. Mopping-up detail, under Sergeant Gortoss." He gestured along the corridor in the opposite direction from where Ross had just come.
"Turn left at the first pile of flaming debris and look for the most homicidally deranged bastard you can find. Ordinarily he'd be in a maximum-security prison, but when there's a war on, he's just the kind of chap you want inside the tent pissing out."
"Yes sir," said Ross, by which he meant, "Holy mother of fuck.

He checks the horns. They're small: not truncated like Hellboy's, but wee, budding, trainer-bra efforts. Definitely not the thing that killed Dazza. In demon terms, he's looking at a midget or a waen. He recalls the ten second rule, and though they only clashed for a moment, it was more than enough. He understands. He has the measure. There is no paralysis by fear. There will be no subconscious surrender to superior mental force and aggression.
In short, he can take this cunt.

Mairi stared at Parlabane with an expression he had seen too often down the years: that look of distress at having discovered precisely how deep the rabbit hole goes, and what darkness lay at its end.

I suppose there are some advantages to this place,' he admitted. 'I bet it's fucking raining in Stirling.

He felt water run down his back from the damp brickwork he was sitting against, and as he worried distantly about corrosion he realised you can always fall a little further. A moment ago he thought he'd bottomed out, but now he was concerned about personal rust. Mother of fuck.

Just because you disagreed with the Poll Tax and detested Margaret Thatcher - "
"Detest is a little inappropriate," Parlabane said. "Maybe closer to say I spent the entire Eighties wishing I was pissing on her rotting corpse.

3 people get stranded on a remote Island
A Banker, a Daily Mail reader & an Asylum seeker
All they have to eat is a box of 10 Mars bars
The Banker says "Because of my expertise in asset management, I'll look after our resources"
The other 2 agree
So the Banker opens the box, gobbles down 9 of the Mars bars and hands the last one to the Daily Mail reader
He then says " I'd keep an eye on that Asylum seeker, he's after your Mars Bar

He had recently heard some chinless Tory fuckpuddle say that London was a world-class city being held back by the rest of the UK. Parlabane had reckoned that if he poured all his money and efforts into fitting out his toilet he could almost certainly have himself a truly world class shite-house. Obviously there would be little in the way of cash or other physical resources for the development and upkeep of the living room and the kitchen, etc... but if anyone asked, he could tell them he had a world-class bog and it was just a shame the rest of the house was holding it back.