Zoey Is Too Drunk for This Dystopia (Zoey Ashe #3)

by Jason Pargin

He was wearing the clothes of a man headed for a funeral and the expression of a man who was about to cause one.

“Humiliate a narcissist and you’ve unleashed a wild animal.”

That’s what real boredom is, this hollow feeling of not living with your own purpose.

“And thanks for shooting that cowboy with your poop umbrella.”

Two hotdogs from Costco. “Oh, my god,” said Zoey. “I’m gonna cry.” “There are sodas in the refrigerator under the wet bar back there.” “I love you. This is the first good thing that has ever happened to me. Ever, in my life.”

“It’s not complicated, Aviv. I know you’re bad for me but the hungry, grunting pig-monster that lives inside me doesn’t care. It’s in charge of my diet, too. It feeds on vice and poops regret.”

I think the most common mistake we make in dealing with people is in assuming that while our own feelings are a mess of contradictions, everybody else is operating with a clear agenda and any inconsistencies must be due to some kind of ruse.”

“Look,” said Alonzo, “what the citizens want couldn’t be simpler: They want all evildoers to be instantly apprehended and punished, with perfect accuracy and no inconvenience to the innocent. They want jobs with good pay, flexibility, and low stress but also want all products and services to be available instantly, at all hours, and dirt cheap. They want generous government infrastructure and benefits, but without paying taxes. In other words, they want the impossible. So what they get instead is a show.” He gestured to the riggings and the lights above the stage. “Something they can follow like a sport, argue about with their buddies.”

“Oh, so you do blame yourself. You know that’s just vanity, right? This assumption that you’re the only responsible adult in the world?”

“There’s no such thing as a leaderless group, humans don’t work that way. Someone is filling that role, it’s just a matter of whether the nature of the group allows for titles to make it official. Everyone wants to operate with a backstop, because the stress is unbearable otherwise. You have to know that if certain choices become impossible that there’s always someone who’ll take the responsibility. It’s just,” he shook his head, “it’s just the way it is, Zoey.”

an unchecked zeal, an army feeling the kind of mutual bond normally found only in a bunker. Only these voices had a darker, bitter edge. Distilled hatred bottled with love on the label.

noting that the last applause line had landed like a mid-eulogy fart.

“You can use a knife and fork to eat a butt. What’s the status of all the simultaneous horrors happening in our world?”

“No bull has ever shit as much bullshit as you bullshitters shit. Honestly?

“Democracy, apparently. I’m going home.”

“You pick up the torch the departed are no longer able to carry, and you press on, in their memory.” He shrugged. “But to be honest, seeing what’s next is the best part. And I bet deep down, you agree. See you tomorrow.”