"Between her brain and her mouth there was no interlocutor."
"Cunnilingus and psychiatry brought us to this."
It's a big, bad addictive thing is The Sopranos, even on the third or fourth go around. It's pervading my January, making shit of my plans to snowglide naked down the bumps and grinds of Croagh Patrick, scuppering any airs I had of going on soup runs for the homeless, rendering folly my vague intentions of re-entering the world of the woo.
Nobody writes casual racism and hypocrisy like David Chase and company, not even Bertie's cronies could hold a lit fuse to Satriale's finest.
Still, soon enough I'm going to have to go out into the world and be a person, just like other people, cursing the fact that a real rain finally came to wash the streets clean of all that literary white stuff.
One more episode.