They have taken hold of the liberal media conversation, have they not? Their triumph is bound up in you nattering nabobs' every mention of their silly little superstition!

Sometimes the burden of illumination falls on the woman, unfortunately. Perhaps Bigelow's success will convince Cameron to make his sequel a paean to the glorious sexual and intellectual power of the magnificent Man.

I heartily recommend that you all follow your puffy personal pied messiah over the cliff and into the sea.

Toohey, Marx's dismissal of God was based on a flawed notion of a universal good collectively achieved which would effectively replace the form and function of the church. My dismissal of God is based on a perfectly sound notion of a purely subjective good independently striven toward which would effectively eliminate…

The minds of the God-fearing are as barren and as terrifying as my all-engulfing womb.

The pleasures of arranged infidelity are not to be dismissed.

I have. And it is glorious.

I still like a little Brandy of the night.

I surrender myself only to the most godlike of men.

Ever let the fancy roam.

Allie, fire up the brisket! …We shall have Grilled Shank of Toohey this evening.

…You may shortly after find yourself longing for the transporting power of death to lift you out of your mundane surroundings and deposit your soul upon the shores of Cameron's blissful Pandora. If this should happen, I recommend you kill yourself, posthaste!

Begone, You Flock of Preening Pigeons!
Flutter off to your corner drug stores with your prescriptions- Prozac, I'm sure, as well as Xanax, and might there be some Oxycontin?- and while you're there perhaps you might purchase another palliative for your pitiful pates, in the form of Hollywood's latest off-switch for…

It is he who does not mention me who is the true castrato.

Do not conflate this manifestation of the diseased imagination of the debased Canadian welfare state with the much more superb idiocy of the works of Mr. Brown. At least Brown's hero looks God and His clergy straight in the face and calls them on their pathetic lies, his eyes ablaze with the holy truth of the glory of…

"The Relationship Between a Man and His Teddybear"…
Marxists! Collectivists! Populists! Look upon the abomination that is known to the world as "Seth McFarlane"! His doll's eyes are your eyes! His paunch your paunch! His juvenalia a refraction of the light that is your pathetic reality, cast upon the wall of the cave…

At Last, the Collectivist Antiarchitects Have Redrawn the Very Contours of the Human Imagination.
And they have made of their audiences a lot of bawling babies. What is the original leech but the fetus sucking furtively at the bounty of its mother's flesh? The little man-shaped monsters want nothing more than all that…

"Avant-garde" art is part of an elaborate conspiracy to undermine true genius. Have you never read my novel, The Fountainhead?