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I don't believe in a god. Or a devil. I'm not like my father. I'm not afraid of being kicked out of some heaven or of burning in some hellpit. If you think that I should be like Ilene and embrace some shitty 'truth' in order to be a model husband or father or a reputable member of society the way society thinks I should be, we can quit this now. F*** you.
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Diane M. Johnson |
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Puffed pastry. That's what the newspaper reporters called it. Department of Transportation inspectors called it disintegration. Deterioration; the over-saturation of iron bridgework by water and air that caused it to puff up and crust over like cheese over a steaming crock of French onion soup. If you touched it, it would flake away like a bad case of psoriasis.
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Diane M. Johnson |
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Ninety inmates was the maximum holding capacity for the Schoharie County Correctional Facility, and ninety inmates resided there. The was no room for fresh crime.
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Diane M. Johnson |
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My daddy walked with Jesus Now he's in the Looney Bin Put your faith in God We Trust A masquerade for sin The god you praise The rapist Loves his virgins Kills his sons My daddy's in a padded room Insane for the wrong One
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Diane M. Johnson |