Hope: A Tragedy

Has a gun owner ever, in the history of the weapon, been satisfied with a small gun? If a small gun can save me, he figures, what can a big gun save? What can the biggest gun save? What can a bomb save?

The food at Mother Earth’s was pure and natural and extraordinarily expensive. You paid more these days for the things you didn’t get—no sodium, no fructose, no corn syrup, no MSG, fat-free, carb-free, dye-free, wheatless, flourless, sugarless—and with each ingredient that wasn’t included, the price increased. A box of nothing—free of poisons, toxi

when someone rises up and promises that things are going to be better, run. Hide. Pessimists don’t build gas chambers.

Wouldn’t that be great, though, Mr. Thomason, if some chairs could save the planet? If chairs could save the planet, I’d be the happiest motherfucker alive, let me tell you.

You never see a lion crucifying another lion. You never see a bear just randomly murdering salmon for anything besides food; bears don’t form armies, invade rivers, tear the heads off male salmon, rape the female salmon, and enslave their salmon children.

Why did children always draw the sun smiling? he wondered. It’s a giant ball of fire, kids. It’s rage and fury. Whatever it’s doing, it isn’t fucking smiling.

Tall people appeared to have it easy; that was what Kugel found so galling. Like things just went their way. Let’s go buy a house! Let’s get expensive diving watches! Why not, we’re tall!

The breeze blew like a whatever.

Protecting a child from the outside world is easy, said Anne Frank as Kugel struggled to descend; his leg ached and he could only hold on, awkwardly, with his one good hand. Protecting him from his inner world, Anne Frank continued, is quite a bit more complicated.