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sweet dreams and—” “Pleasant repose, all the bed and all the clothes,”
Uncle Harry checked it out, talked to some big bug who worked for the Fund (although not to James Mackenzie himself, because Uncle Harry was just a small bug in the great scheme of things), and put in a bunch of money. The returns were so good that he put in more. And more. When he got the Alzheimer’s—and he went downhill really fast—my mother took over all the accounts, and she not only stuck with the Mackenzie Fund, she put even more money into it.
I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that the Mackenzie Fund was actually a big fat Ponzi scheme.
And every day she cursed James Mackenzie for the thieving, money-grubbing, motherfucking, cock-sucking, bleeding hemorrhoid on legs that he was.
Fair enough
“I feel like the grasshopper who played all summer instead of working,”
And she started drinking more wine. A lot more.
First, Mom’s wisdom teeth went to hell and got infected. She had to have them all pulled. That was bad. Then Uncle Harry, troublesome Uncle Harry, still not fifty years old, tripped in the Bayonne care facility and fractured his skull. That was a lot worse.
Worst of all, the IRS came after Mom for back taxes Uncle Harry owed. He had been putting off that other uncle—Sam—so he could dump more money into the Mackenzie Fund.
Damn
Regis Thomas is dead.
Nooo
I’d say there was a sex scene every fifty pages or so in Death Swamp, including one in a tree while hungry alligators crawled around beneath.
In a tree?
and gorgeous women with firm, high breasts.
I was waiting for him to talk about boobies Lol he can’t help it
Who dies at fifty-nine if they’re not a hundred pounds overweight or using drugs?”
DO NOT TRESPASS, WE ARE TIRED OF HIDING THE BODIES.
UH ?
doubt if died on the throne, like Elvis, but I suppose it’s possible.”
Hahaha
he was dressed in a plain white tee, baggy shorts, and those strappy sandals Mom calls Jesus shoes.
LOOOL
“Are she and your mother fucking?”
Obviously
“I heard her,” Mr. Thomas said. “I’m dead, not deaf.”
Haha
“Listen, maybe you better pull up your shorts, Mr. Thomas, or your willy’s gonna get chilly.”
The old man has jokes I can't stop laughing
“If you snooze, you lose.”
Yup
My mother called him John Boner,
She's kinda unhinged I like her
Liz would tell me not to make a lot of noise because the aspirin hadn’t kicked in yet,
Given a choice between seeing dead folks—yes, I still see them—and the memories brought on by the smell of spilled wine, I’d pick the dead folks.
Sad
“firm thrusting breasts tipped with rosy nipples,”
Hhaaahaa
Lily Rhinehart,
He's trolling us
I realized that she wasn’t exactly liked by her bosses. Or trusted. It didn’t have anything to do with the relationship she had with my mother; when it came to sex, the NYPD was slowly moving into the 21st century. It wasn’t the drinking, either, because she wasn’t the only cop who liked to put it away. But certain people she worked with had begun to suspect that Liz was a dirty cop. And—spoiler alert!—they were right.
The girl had golden hair and rosy cheeks and a hole in her throat.
Jeez
“He came into the park, he sat down on a bench, and he blew his brains out with a Ruger .45 ACP.”
To a kid who grew up in the Palace on Park, it looked more like that Shawshank Redemption prison than an apartment building.
I see what you did there
That was his brain.
Yuck
“Where…is it…you…motherfucker?”
Show him wassup
“Because I felt like it,”
Come on now
“I’ll be seeing you,” Therriault said. The grin widened and I could see a cake of dead blood between his teeth and cheek. “Champ.”
Are you going to tell your mother about this?” “I don’t know.” She smiled. “It was a rhetorical question. Of course you will. And that’s okay, doesn’t bother me in the slightest. Do you know why?” “Because nobody would believe it.” She patted my hand. “That’s right, Champ. Hole in one.”
Bitch
I think only your mother can truly make you feel lower than whale shit.
Nothing like this had ever happened to me before. No dead person had ever followed me home like a fucking stray dog.
What if I woke up and he was lying in bed with me? Maybe even grabbing at my junk?
Hahahaa
“What he’s got is hereditary,” Therriault said, “and it runs in the male line. You’ll be like him, Champ. You’ll be like him before you know it.”
According to the stories, you and the demon bind yourselves together by biting into each other’s tongues.”
No thanks
“If you think I’m going to—what?—french-kiss that guy, you’re out of your mind! For one thing, he’s dead, did you not get that?”
Habahhaahsvwgyzhk
I knew the dead could impact the living, that was no surprise. I’d seen it, but those impacts had always been little things. Professor Burkett had felt his wife’s kiss. Liz had felt Regis Thomas blow on her face. But the things I’d just seen—the light that blew out, the jittery, vibrating doorknob that had turned, the messenger falling off his bike—were on an entirely different level.
It was stronger, so what? I’d owned it, had made it my bitch.
Yooooo
“I told it what you told me to say, Professor. That if I whistled, it had to come to me. That it was my turn to haunt it. It agreed. I made it say it out loud, and it did.”
I did speak with Professor Burkett again, but there were no drinks or snacks. He no longer used those things, because he was dead.
Nooo
“Do you know who my father is?” “Yes.” “Who? Who is it?” “I am,” Uncle Harry said.
WHAT
my parents got a little closer than a brother and sister should have done.
THE FUCK
