No, nighttime is for pizza boys like you:

mixing pizza dough by hand according to what the instructions said, which, sleep-deprived, you thought meant, like, actually by hand, like, dipping your hand in the cauldron and swirling it around, until the sixteen-year-old Mexican kid started laughing at you and asked you if you had a girlfriend

Captain Stanley wore the curved half trunk of an oak tree. His half-trunk choat (he spelled coat with an ‘h’ for whatever reason) had two armholes out of which his arms managed to wriggle but with considerably shortened range of motion. Captain Stanley didn’t care. He would regale anyone who’d listen with stories of his choat’s great buoyancy.

Where good people go to buy good cars from better people!

This is a story. It is not a very good story, but it is not very long, either, so you will not have to endure it for too long a time. It is a story about a girl, fourteen, and a boy, twelve. The boy and the girl, as you may guess if you have read any literature written within the past ten years, were lovers. This may sound disgusting to you, but probably not.

People sometimes especially don’t think I’ll box them, and won’t especially fight back because they’re too lame and are shit out of muscle. I don’t like beating these people basically but I do because they pretty much shouldn’t of have thought I wasn’t gonna hit them. People need to sleep in their beds, know what I mean?

“We stayed in contact for years after that,” Vince said. “Then he and his wife got divorced and she came over to Seattle. She called me one night. Must have been real lonely. Of course, I’ve always been true to Byron’s mother.”

“Dad, you’ve been divorced for years,” Byron said.

Vince chuckled. “I send her a package of game every year just to remind her of what she’s missing and to say no hard feelings. She can’t stand hunting. Wonder what she does with the meat.” He glanced at Byron for an answer, but he just shrugged his shoulders. “Once I sent her some jackrabbit. G.P. called me and told me to quit harassing his wife. I said, ‘Harassing, hell, it’s a gift!” He said, ‘We both know what it is, and I’m warning you to stop it.’ I said, ‘Well, what are you gonna do, give me an injection, you wimp?’” He chuckled again. “You see,” he said. “Even unrequited love can have some levity.”

Claudio despised Lady Gaga with a passion.

“I’d like to poke her face,” he told his underlings in Inside Sales, between a call. “Poke her eyes out, more like.”

“Mmm,” they replied.

“God, talentless trash,” he said to his huge flatscreen TV whenever her videos came on. “You look like you’re wearing garbage, literally, like you dug through the trash and wore it.”

nothing has ever happened in this or that or any other or maybe too damn many parallel universes? Or say nothing whatsoever matters but matter? About 5% of the observable universe as it happens — depending on your take or pull on string theory, cosmic bangs, dark matter, exotic matter, or just how many glasses of pinot noir you’ve had with your steak and baked potato physics.