Jeremy Robert Johnson Quotes

He's just a guy who got caught up in a bad habit and made a few mistakes at work." "He's

Ten glorious years at Pingfang, a sea of bodies brought to you by train. War as immunity from man's laws. Before, you'd worked in the shadows. During the ten years you worked for Division 4 there were no such hindrances. Dr. Masaki ran the inventory, cataloguing prisoners as non-descript units referred to only as "Materials Used." You preferred to call the prisoners "logs," each destined for the incinerator after they'd been of use.

The bodies of a man and his dog fused together, skin and fur melded. Nobody wanted to die alone.

Icarus flew too close to the sun, but at least he flew.

Well, you put a gun to my head."
"No. I put a suggestion in your mind and a gun in your hands.

This is a jury of your peers. They watch the same TV movies. They belong to Oprah's Book Club. You can take any monster, slap a bad dad into his past, and all of a sudden he's just another lost soul, lashing out. And you were the poor lady that got in the way. They'll argue you lacked compassion. You were the one who took things too far.

You must understand the immense power of self-serving delusion." I

Once I catch a serious FUCK IT wave, I ride that thing right up to the sand.

I mistakenly believed that my life had finally reached the peak of Crazy Bullshit Mountain. Hindsight

With this blistering salvo of poetic gutshots Lawson has proven himself Bizarro's true bard, its mad laureate. Switching from dark whimsy to retina-blast shock to political outrage without missing a beat, The Troublesome Amputee is a powerful collection of pitch-black verse.

I mean, I had my turtle Deckard, but his lifestyle consisted of sunbathing, eating goldfish, and - somehow I just knew this - silently judging me while I masturbated. I'd taken to covering his tank with a thin blanket, but still…he knew.

Well, Hindsight, have you ever heard of the term Busy Idiot?

I considered going off grid, but where was "off grid" anymore that didn't require me to know how to kill an elephant seal and live off its blubber?

The night was vibrating with new potential, the beautiful after-haze of adrenaline and bad ideas fully embraced. Ugly thoughts crept in, forcing me to write off a growing list of concerning data: My old dealer gone mad and roaming the sewers; Egbert's hand - notably short on its middle and ring fingers - reaching out to me with three tiny pill baggies; gas-masked kids dodging conscious thought like a plague; a trafficked tranny more concerned with evading cops than finding love.

Don't worry. These cowboys are all in line. Nice, law-abiding batch here, only want to help you reach your dreams. They're nothing like that last group who rolled through town with branding irons and rape-trusses and shotguns. These are the good guys.

collected promotional mugs for all eight of the banks which collapsed beneath me. I lined them up in each new cubicle like heads on poles outside of a cannibal village. My resume was a graveyard of once powerful institutions.

Somewhere, floating in a muddled abstraction beyond your existence as a generally good person, are the Externalities. Fuck 'em and God Bless 'em.

And his dick looks like a hot dog that got hit with a sledgehammer and sewn back together by a blind lady."
"Thanks, Port."
"You're welcome, D.

But my social circle had dwindled. Hell, all I had was a social dot - just me on a one man continuum.

The terrible loop began on a Tuesday and didn't end until the day I saw a skullcracker swallow the brain of a bank-hired assassin.

Took to typing as quickly and loudly as possible and yelling, "I'm in!" when accessing basic programs. Made me feel like a hacker.

I wasn't a hoarder, but I knew my place gave off a Feral Child Hidey Hole vibe.

Man, Books & Booze is cool, right?. That's the most fun I've had in an interview this year. Definitely the most singing I've done.

Exactly how long can you stand on a street corner showing two drug dealers your scar-tissue-induced radical penis curvature? The answer is twelve seconds. After that it feels weird.

The money buys the drugs, the drugs work harder and harder to trick your blackened dopamine receptors into giving a damn about living. At some point you make a choice: fight your need the rest of your goddamned long-suffering life, or fill your need until it disappears into the grave with you.

They'd insert a probe into the patient's head to press the nodule and the patient's immediate response would be to shout out, "FUCK IT! WHY NOT?

All of this took about a minute, but time stretches out when you're witnessing an abomination.

Billion dollar bonuses turned rules into polite suggestions.