Fun with Moby-Dick and Jane
This Early Reader series teaches children the fundamentals of literacy through “whole whale” spotting, a technique developed by Dr. "Cap'n" Ahab. Lively illustrations of “old tars” harpooning large sea mammals will keep even ADD children enthralled.
Scarlet Letter to a Christian Nation
Provocative author Sam Harris challenges his audience in this audacious sequel to his best-seller The End of Keeping Faith. In this scorching essay, Harris proposes that all Christians wear an embroidered red letter ‘C’ on their chests so that the non-believers and “generally sane” people can quickly identify those who are “irrational, ignorant, and intolerant bigots.” Sure to be on every neighborhood book club’s reading list.
Velveteen Rabbit, Run
This treasured child psychologist classic has been used for decades to help children deal with issues of loss and abandonment. The story features a protagonist who flees his wife and child in order to find himself only to discover the truth from a stuffed horse: “Real isn't how you are made. It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.” This boardbook comes with a rich tactile cover that your child will be desperate to hug for years to come.
The Tell-Tale Heart of Darkness by Edgar Allan Poe and Joseph Conrad as Filmed by Frances Ford Coppola
Saigon, sh*t. I’m still only in Saigon. Every time I think I’m going to wake up back in that vulture-eyed old man’s room. When I was home, it was worse. I’d wake up and there’d be nothing but the sound of a heart beating…
When I was here I wanted to be there. When I was there, all I could think of was getting back into the old man’s room.
I’ve been here a week now. Waiting for that heart beat, getting louder. Every minute I stay in this room it gets louder.
And every minute Charlie squats in the bush he gets stronger. Each time I look around the walls move in a little tighter.
Everyone gets everything he wants. I wanted a heart beat, and for my sins they gave me one. Brought it up to me like room service.
Polish Anthropologist Bronislaw Malinowski lives among and observes a group of "stoners", in an effort to understand their habits. He comes to the conclusion that Freud is wrong, and that all of these people are "d@#chebags".
Can I ask you something, Dean? Sal said.
Are we Beat?
Sometimes. Not now.
And we're still going west.
So we'll be hip.
Nothing. Just dig.
I'm going to blow out this reefer stick. Is that okay?
Yes. That's okay.
But old HuCkE done see all the neighsayers caint be troothsayers even though ol Jefferson heself plant a garden with others black hands and he can see the hands soilcovered sweat and sunslight, a rocking chair on the porch squeakcreak slurp of tea and grayhaired indignant penman. But four fathers and countrybuilders and laborforces ain't got no right And since this hallowed way of life so long but not right not Jim niggerboy but pa done say and all them people say thisuh one be Missuhs Watsons properteh thisuh one with the strong build and meek puppy eyes harangutaned and marked in mind in body property belonging but never belonging and unable to discern white from wrong. Four men held in her swarms, the gushing Miss Isipee, winding her way cross court and country freely flowing down from sea to sea, carrying on her two men, a king in permanent interregnum, the bilgewater Duke of Griftin, the animalman a hootin hollerin the troublesome boy once dead back from heck risen to freedeem on a little raft a way a lone a last a loved a long the
Captain Jack Aubrey, accused of fathering a child out of wedlock, is relieved of his command. Stephen Maturin, doctor and spy, returns to England after a two year separation from Aubrey.
Will Aubrey reveal the mother of his child?
Can Maturin have his friend's command reinstated?
And why is Aubrey wearing that ridiculously large "A" on his pantaloons?
Haines, sitting on a low chair by the table, is trying to take the lid off a tea kettle. He pulls at it with both hands, panting. He gives up, exhausted, rests tries again.
Enter Mulligan bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a smaller mirror lay crossed.
Mulligan: (lifting the bowl aloft) Introibo ad...
Mulligan: I forgot.
Haines: Okay. Would you like some tea?
Mulligan: We can't.
Haines: Why not?
Mulligan: We're waiting for Dedalus. (lathers his face) Come down, Kinch. Come down, you fearful jesuit.
Haines: Who's Kinch?
Mulligan: Dedalus. (pause) I think.
Haines: You think?
Mulligan: How else would I know to call him a jesuit.
Haines: So, Dedalus is a jesuit?
Mulligan: (confidently) Yes. (looks into the larger mirror as he scrapes the lather off his face with the smaller mirror)
Haines: Why the Greek name?
Mulligan: I may be mistaken. Let's stop talking for a minute, do you mind. (pauses for a few seconds) Haines, open that door, will you?
Haines: I had a dream.
Mulligan: Don't tell me!
Haines: I dreamt of Huey P. Newton and Bobby Sea--
Mulligan: DON'T TE-- who?
Haines: I don't know.
Enter Mrs Cahill and Lucky. Mrs Cahill drives Lucky with a rope passed around his neck, so Lucky is the first to enter. Lucky carries many jugs of milk
Mulligan: In nomine Patris et Filii et Patris...
Mrs Cahill at the sight of Mulligan and Haines stops short. The rope tautens. Mrs Cahill jerks at it violently.
Mrs Cahill: Back!
Noise of Lucky falling breaking all the milk bottles.
Mulligan: I wanted Sandycove milk for my tea.
Haines: We can drink it black.
Mulligan: Damn you and your Paris fads, I want Sandycove milk.
Haines tries to pour some tea, but the kettle is empty
Haines: Nothing to be done.
Mulligan: Well? Shall we eat breakfast without Dedalus?
Haines: Yes, let's.
They don't eat
Eat and drink you muddy dogs
For tomorrow we might die
But don't forget to tip your waitress
In case this ain't goodbye
Bloodlush York, the son of an exiled horseshoer, once in the stockades, passed Henry a flask of wine.
"Wha?" said Henry who had wondered how he was going to get out of this one.
"What the hell, I figure, anyway, we've sailed from one shore to the next and maybe we'll kill a few more people or maybe they'll kill us but you know I saw this guy with a leek in his hat and honestly I don't even care anymore as long he at least get dismembered tomorrow. A leek, like yeah that's your bastion of identity. Stupid **bleep**."
Henry looked in puzzlement as the drunken York rambled on. He felt himself apart from the battle, separate from the rest. Only he knew the extent of the conspiracy and had only agreed to this hare-brained war in order to uncover its hidden truth. He knew France had been in league with an illuminati organization under the leadership of the Mystic Sultanate, Abin Ovarth Inkenitt. Together, with the cooperation of the United Merchants Guild, they established what he knew was fast becoming a perpetual war state in which all those involved got rich, and fast, and were too far away to see the death throes of those paying the price. The signs were everywhere. Two swords left in the ground coming to a point, forming the unmistakable signature of the Discreet, Evil and Various Illuminati Locus, the theosophic V., a source of power to all those trained in the mysteries.
You wake up in Unknown Kadath.
I am on a boat. I am still on a boat. Every morning I wake up and I see nothing because I have no eyes. I don't need to see. The waves tell me enough. Not there yet. A sailor blasphemes crudely, and the others laugh. If only they knew. If only they had seen what I have seen. I have no eyes but I must scream. I am Jack's undulating tentacle.
You wake up at R'lyeh.
The bottom of the ocean is spread out before me. The non-euclidian geometry of the structures fills me with an existential angst like paint stripper. The tentacles in my eye-sockets quiver in anticipation. Daddy, I'm home. In his house at R'lyeh, dead Cthulhu waits dreaming. Before me looms the tomb of a star vampire, having lain dormant here for aeons. It is awake now. They are all awake now. I take a step forwards. My mind takes a step back. Slide. The dreamer dreams no longer. I use my tentacles to pry open the vault and step inside. The star vampire assaults my psyche with a barrage of ethereal screams.
"I want you to punch me as hard as you can."
When the stars are right, I cock back my fist and punch him in the cloaca.
On a long enough timeline, the survival rate for everything drops to zero.
THE INSIDE SCOOP
- Recently, your roving gossip reporter has noticed that the Incredible Hulk has been absent from the social scene.
- Dr. Bruce Banner was spotted at an anger-management seminar given by Dr. Phil.
- Elizabeth Bennett says computer dating match ups are worth a try.
- Renowned detective Adrian Monk has refused to consult with famed detective Nero Wolfe who prefers not to leave his premises. Insiders have confirmed that Mr. Monk is appalled by Archie's sloppy sandwiches . He also does not care for the assymetrical appearance of Mr. Wolfe's famed orchids.
- Sam-I-Am, the roving restaurant critic, has started offering more varied food choices to his readers.
- The Three Bears have recently moved to an exclusive gated community'
Stay tuned., You never know where your roving reporter may be lurking!
IN UNDERTAKING to describe the recent and strange incidents in our industry, well known but rarely understood, I find' myself forced in absence of literary skill to begin my story rather far back, that is to say, with certain biographical details concerning that talented and highly-esteemed Madame, Mirand Priestly (nee Miriam Princhek).. I trust that these details may at least serve as an introduction, while my projected story itself will come later.
I will say at once that Mirand Priestly had always filled a particular role at Runway, that of editor and chief exorciator, so to say, and she was passionately fond of playing the part—so much so that I really believe she could not have existed without it. Not that I would put her on a level with an actor at a theatre, God forbid, for I really have a respect for her. This may all have been the effect of habit, or rather, more exactly of a dreadful propensity she had from her earliest years for indulging in a frightful but satisfying daydream in which she figured as an aristocratic and commanding public character. She fondly loved, for instance, her position as a "powerful" figure and, so to speak, a "sophisticate.” There is a sort of fabulous glamour about those two little words that fascinated her once for all and, exalting her gradually in her own opinion, raised her in the course of years to a lofty pedestal very gratifying to vanity.
As the Second World War encroaches on the Moscow suburbs, four children are sent out into the countryside to stay with an old family friend so that they are safe from the attacking Germans. As they settle into their new home, a visiting aparatchik catches the youngest of the four children reading bourgeois literature and after a brief show trial she is taken away to a labor camp where she manufactures ball bearings for T-34 tanks. Being a 6 year old child used to a comfortable life she is unfit for the brutalities of the labor camp and soon slips into a delusional fantasy world - complete with fauns, witches, and a giant talking lion - which she has constructed as a coping mechanism. Meanwhile her siblings go without food for three weeks in order to save a stash of ruples with which they hope to bribe the correct officials and get her released from the camp. Unfortunately the amount does not suffice and so they too are sentenced to hard labor after being charged with bribery. Upon being reunited with their younger sibling they are at first shocked at her delusional state and attempt to bring her out of it. But as hard the realities of the camp settle in they too succumb to delusion and so too begin to see themselves living in this fantasy realm, engaging in an epic conflict of good and evil - obviously influenced by the corrupt Tsarist folktales they had been fed as infants - defeating a wicked witch and emerging victorious as Kings and Queens, living happily ever after in their delusional fantasy world as their bodies succumb to fatigue and malnourishment.