"Red light, bitches!"

Thugg Dogg ruled the streets, and had the excruciatingly slow walk to prove it. On crowded sidewalks he'd glaciate almost impreceptably, using his imposing physique to box out an ever-increasing herd of weary pedestrians. This clot of would shuffle in arduous locomotion behind him -- nervously awaiting the pick-and-roll facilitated by an opportune trash can -- and, unable to restrain its natural momentum, inch ever-closer to the strutting megalith.

Sporadically and with uncharacteristic haste, Thugg Dogg would spin on his heels to blast his nearest followers with a menacing scowl. With intimidating confidence, he'd scan their startled faces and petrified poses for the slightest flinch or falter.

Those caught moving had to start again from the back of the pack.

Frocked and Outraged

Seething, Raed walked home to change clothes.

license to kill

Fiona pressed her body against his, encouraging him to continue.

Bond flashed a wry grin, condemning her to die.

early retirement

"... for he's a jolly good feeeeeelloooooow, which nobody can deny!"

The noisy chorus of men succumbed to the percussive snaps of an AK-47. As silence fell, the most weather-worn of their bunch stepped forward, his blush apparent even under a heavy beard.

"Wow, guys, I really don't know what to say. I mean, Allah Akbar, obviously, but geez, you guys are the greatest. I'm proud of each and every one of you, and I'm going to miss you all. Man, we've had a great run, haven't we? Remember the jihads? Good times ...

As hard as it is, it's just that time in my life for me to move on. When your heart's not 100% in it, you know it's time to go. There are other things out there, you know? And now I'll finally have time to devote to my art.

But thank you for everything. The party, the volleyball equipment, everything. And Mustafa, the cake looks so amazing with those oversized novelty candles!

Wait a second ... those aren't oversized novelty candles ...

Oh, you jokers! C'mere!"

Uniform for hostage-prone American contractors in Iraq

Oh, I get it.

He's an atheist.

The scene spoke of an unimaginable tragedy, a nightmare scenario to challenge the very core of man. It was a liberal and unwarranted distribution of pain, the very occurance of which drained all hope from makind. This was an event never to be righted, justified, or forgotten.

Henry stood there, aghast, as the horrific stimuli penetrated his reality. Over measureless time heavy tumblers locked into place, casting the foul puzzle together. Dark pictures formed whispered words, and though they were all ones that he'd used before, he had never before known their meaning.

Henry pleaded, as he had so many times, in a word -- "Why??" -- but there was never to be understanding. His desperate rage found no home.

His soul wrenched a vicious turn, casting pain up his throat and driving against the muscles in his neck. Unrestrainable, he shouted, his fist jabbing the smokey sky.

"RAAAANDOOOOM!!!"

"Lick his balls! Lick his balls! Licks his balls!"

Andria shook her head and vowed to find some female friends.

More than one is too many.

She pulled the list from his desk drawer and read it, trembling.

... fabric, elasticity, dye retention, toe/heel reinforcement, calf coverage ...

... and thus it continued for six pages of tightly spaced handwritten text.

Having discovered the list of criteria by which he judged argyle socks, she ran screaming into a nearby burning mattress factory.

cautious pedestrian

He had an irrational fear of becoming paralyzed, and dutifully looked both ways when crossing the street. He would hold the handrail when ascending stairs, and throttle it when descending. He would practice showering while seated.

He had an encylopedic knowledge of the city's ramps.