A Confederacy of Dunces

(For example, can you name one good, practicing transvestite in the Senate?

laconically.

“They are rather tasty,” Ignatius conceded, sending out his flabby pink tongue over his moustache to hunt for crumbs. “I think that I shall have a macaroon or two. I have always found coconut to be good roughage.”

You learnt everything, Ignatius, except how to be a human being.”

“The only thing you ever be givin the orphan is siphlus. Whoa! Don gimme no shit about no mother-fuckin record player. As soon as I crack open this orphan case, I callin a po-lice myself. I sick and tire of workin in this cathouse below the minimal wage and getting intimidatia all the time.”

Patrolman Mancuso had a good idea that had been given to him by, of all people, Ignatius Reilly. He had telephoned the Reillys’ house to ask Mrs. Reilly when she could go bowling with him and his aunt. But Ignatius had answered the telephone and screamed, “Stop molesting us, you mongoloid. If you had any sense, you would be investigating dens like

You must have therapy soon or you will become a screaming queen.

“I shall have a coffee,” Ignatius said grandly. “Chicory coffee with boiled milk.” “Only instant,” the bartender said. “I can’t possibly drink that,” Ignatius told his mother. “It’s an abomination.” “Well, get a beer, Ignatius. It won’t kill you.” “I may bloat.”

“Why did you step out of my life, you minx? Your new hairdo is fascinating and cosmopolitan.”