"Do you know what I think, Nick Carraway?" she asked me.
"What's that, Daisy Buchanan?" I replied
"I think it's true what they say: the sun also rises!"
Then we started doing it.
"Well, you're safe now, my lad!" boomed the captain. "That whale almost got you!"
"Yes, thank you, guv'nah! Arrr!" said I. "But you must tell me, just what is the name of that terrifying whale??"
"Why, matey, that was the famous Moby-Dick!"
I spit out my Coke. What a name for a whale! I was pretty surprised.
"Upon further consideration, I'm glad I failed," said Atticus.
And just like that I decided I wasn't going to burn any more books. I thought a fireman should put out fires, personally. I turned in my letter of resignation after lunch. Captain Beatty said "I'm sorry to see you go. You are very good at burning books. But listen, good luck, okay?" When I left I was pretty scared, though, because now I didn't have a job.
By this point, all the pigs could talk. So could the cows and the horses and all the other animals on the farm. Sheepy Sheeplin noticed that they just kept fighting each other and the pigs, especially, were getting to be a bit much. He turned to Lamby Sheepbo and said "Can you fuckin' believe this?"
"Why hello, madam, would you like to dance to the music of time with me?"
"No, you fuck off!"
Joe Christmas ate the Southern chew-leaves in the heat of the heavy curtains. There was a violence of fury among the travelling men through the slats of the weedy yard-fence. Joe Christmas spat in a rage, his spit a whole hot universe. "Okay," he said to the old man who dripped sweat like a Civil War Bible, "just do me a favor -- leave my balls alone." The old man said "No chance."
While his wife Molly masturbated, Leopold Bloom took a long hot shit.