Red Seas Under Red Skies (Gentleman Bastard, #2)

by Scott Lynch

getting beaten like a pair of dusty carpets.

“What’s your hand look like?” “A parched desert,”

“A wasteland of bitter frustration.”

worth precisely one wet shit from a sick dog in this situation.

“And now, my dear professional pessimist,” said Locke as they stepped away from the Sinspire and acquired relative privacy, “my worry-merchant, my tireless font of doubt and derision … what do you have to say to that?” “Oh, very little, to be sure, Master Kosta. It’s so hard to think, overawed as I am with the sublime genius of your plan.” “That bears some vague resemblance to sarcasm.” “Gods forfend,” said Jean. “You wound me! Your inexpressible criminal virtues have triumphed again, as inevitably as the tides come and go. I cast myself at your feet and beg for absolution. Yours is the genius that nourishes the heart of the world.”

I hope a shark tries to suck your cock!”

“Crooked Warden,” said Locke, “men are stupid. Protect us from ourselves. If you can’t, let it be quick and painless.”

I want you to use your misplaced acorn of a brain before the squirrel comes looking for it again.