Annual Wayne Charity Galaby VICKI VALE
Tonight I attended yet another Gala held at stately Wayne Manor. There were throngs of socialites in their best outfits, mingling and talking about nothing. It astonishes me how these people can talk about nothing in so many words. Guess the average number of yachts I heard about in each conversation at this party. Two. The average number of yachts a normal gothamite boards in their life? Zero.
You know, you see it on TV, you read it in the magazines: celebrities who want sympathy. All they do is piss and moan inside the rolling stone, talking about how hard life can be. I'd like to see them spend a week living life out on the street - I don't think they would survive. If they could spend a day or two walking in someone elses shoes, I think they'd stumbled and they'd fall.
If money is such a problem, well, they've got mansions. I think we should rob them.
The crowd seemed to grow
It was this, as much as anything, that gave people courage, and I suppose the new arrivals from Woking also helped to restore confidence. At any rate, as the dusk came on a slow, intermittent movement upon the sand pits began, a movement that seemed to gather force as the stillness of the evening about the cylinder remained unbroken. Vertical black figures in twos and threes would advance, stop, watch, and advance again, spreading out as they did so in a thin irregular crescent that promised to enclose the pit in its attenuated horns. I, too, on my side began to move towards the pit.
Then I saw some cabmen and others had walked boldly into the sand pits, and heard the clatter of hoofs and the gride of wheels. I saw a lad trundling off the barrow of apples. And then, within thirty yards of the pit, advancing from the direction of Horsell, I noted a little black knot of men, the foremost of whom was waving a white flag.
The Dark Knight has been spotted on rooftops
Leave that to me. Send a distress signal, and inform the Senate that all on board were killed. "In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came!" This time, let go your conscious self and act on instinct. In my experience, there is no such thing as luck. You're all clear, kid. Let's blow this thing and go home!
You don't believe in the Force, do you? Partially, but it also obeys your commands. The plans you refer to will soon be back in our hands. As you wish.
A thousand unknown plants
I should be incapable of drawing a single stroke at the present moment; and yet I feel that I never was a greater artist than now. When, while the lovely valley teems with vapour around me, and the meridian sun strikes the upper surface of the impenetrable foliage of my trees, and but a few stray gleams steal into the inner sanctuary, I throw myself down among the tall grass by the trickling stream; and, as I lie close to the earth, a thousand unknown plants are noticed by me: when I hear the buzz of the little world among the stalks, and grow familiar with the countless indescribable forms of the insects and flies, then I feel the presence of the Almighty, who formed us in his own image, and the breath
THE NAME ON EVERYBODY'S LIPS by FRANZ KAFKA
The name on everybody's lips is gonna be: Harley. The lady raking in the chips is gonna be Harley! She's gonna be a celebrity (that means somebody everyone knows). We're gonna recognize her eyes, her hair, her teeth, her boobs, her nose. From just some dumb old joker's gal she's gonna be: Harley! Who says that murders not an art? And who, in case she doesn't hang, can say she started with a bang? Harley Quinn!
They're gonna wait outside in line to get to see Harley (think of those autographs she'll sign - good luck to you, Harley). And she'll appear in a lavalier that goes all the way down to her waist. Here a ring, there a ring, everywhere a ringaling! But always in the best of taste. Oh, she's a star, and the audience loves her. And she loves them. Anf they love her for loving them and she loves them for loving her. And that's because none of them got enough love in their childhoods. But that's showbiz, kid.