The graveyard of personal literary ambition.
There is only one of me, but I am Legion.
(lazy dot reviewer at gmail)
Every woman must decide how not to sleep with Jonathan Franzen in her own way. I learned from my grandmother, a wise woman who lived in the forest and only very rarely slept with Jonathan Franzen. She told me once, on a frosty winter night, how best to escape his sexual clutches if I ever encountered him on the path that led to the nearest market town.
“You will know him,” she said, “for he shall be riding on a white steed, and his right hand will bear no glove. When you see him, you must rush at him, and throw your kirtle over him, and hold fast to him, no matter what form he may take as he struggles against you.”
“What forms will he take?” I said. She leaned in close to me and stoked up the fire.
9. “Meles meles, the European badger, is indigenous to the United Kingdom, lives in an underground labyrinth of tunnels called a sett, and feeds on worms and grubs. There are about 300,000 badgers in England.”
At least 30 of them live in Salamandastron (near Dover), the legendary seat of the Badger Lords and their fighting force of hare-warriors. The Lords of Salamandastron have struck a deal with the Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs and have been promised that their ancestral lands will not be affected by the culling.
"Nobody who was secretly a witch-hunter or a wizard prince or a werepanther or a thousand years old or half-demon took special notice of her, either. Which isn’t to say they disliked her. They just didn’t have much in common. She was a regular sixteen-year-old girl, which meant she spent a lot of time at soccer practice and a little bit of time reading manga and the rest of her time listening to music, and they were really more into esoteric magic shit."
The Toast’s blind correspondent on why he should have the same right to own a gun you do.