Vulgar words in Down and Out in the Magic Kingdom (Page 1)
This book at a glance
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What's more, P2P nets kick all kinds of ass.
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"Damn, you know, it's so easy to get used to life without hyperlinks.
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"Brother, that's committing half-assed suicide.
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I'm gonna be here in ten thousand years, you damn betcha, but I think I'll do it the long way around."
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He embarrassed me by making a show of thinking it over again, making me feel like I was just a half-pissed glib poltroon.
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I'd pretty much pissed away most of my Whuffie -- all the savings from the symphonies and the first three theses -- drinking myself stupid at the Gazoo, hogging library terminals, pestering profs, until I'd expended all the respect anyone had ever afforded me.
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"Damn," I said.
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They did a fine job, racked up gobs of Whuffie, and anyone who came around and tried to take it over would be so reviled by the guests they wouldn't find a pot to piss in.
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His excitement and dedication to the task were inspiring, pulling me into his over-the-top-and-damn-the-torpedoes mode of being.
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"I'm not going to let those bastards disrupt my life any more."
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Dan's poker face didn't twitch a muscle.
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They did it, and they fucked with their backups somehow.
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"Oh, shit," Dan said.
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He had his poker face on.
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What Debra's people are building -- it's hive-mind shit.
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Give it a little while and we can come back at her, take over the Hall -- even the Pirates, that'd really piss her off.
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"Oh, shit," he said.
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"Goddamn it," I said, "keep the fucking editorial to yourself.
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I tried to keep the shit-eating grin off my face as nothing happened.
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"Oh, shit, I hate how I look when I cry," she said.
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I hadn't told her that I was offline yet -- it just seemed like insignificant personal bitching relative to the crises she was coping with.
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It's your shift -- fucking work it or call in sick."
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Go fiddle with fucking merch.
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For God's sake, Lil, don't you ever get fucking angry about anything?
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She'd been just 19 -- apparent and real -- and had a bubbly, flirty vibe that made me dismiss her, at first, as just another airhead castmember.
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That was when I met this asshole" -- she chucked her husband on the shoulder -- "he'd gotten the wrong sleeping bag by mistake and wouldn't budge when I came down to crash.
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For God's sake, Lil, don't you ever get fucking angry about anything?
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I went back to bed and stared at the ceiling fan as it made its lazy turns, and felt like shit.
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I've got a pretty kickass idea."
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The poor bastard kept getting punched out by startled guests, and besides, the armor wasn't too comfortable for long shifts."
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"This is fucking fantastic, Lil," I said.
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Holy shit, was it ever audacious: since the first Mansion opened in California in 1969, no one had ever had the guts to seriously fuxor with it.
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Long after his software company was sold, long after he'd made his nut, he was dressing up in silly disguises and hitting the tables, grinding out hand after hand of twenty-one, for the sheer satisfaction of Beating The House.
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"I wouldn't nag if you'd only fucking make it happen.
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Check my fucking phone logs."
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"I need a friend who doesn't fuck my girlfriend when my back is turned."
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I really liked the bastard.
~ ~ ~ Sentence 1,955 ~ ~ ~
She'd been exposed to a lot of hard rads and low gee and had generally become pretty transhuman as time went by, upgrading with a bewildering array of third-party enhancements: a vestigial tail, eyes that saw through most of the RF spectrum, her arms, her fur, dogleg reversible knee joints and a completely mechanical spine that wasn't prone to any of the absolutely inane bullshit that plagues the rest of us, like lower-back pain, intrascapular inflammation, sciatica and slipped discs.
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She set fire to the neighbors' apartments, wrapped herself in plastic sheeting, dry-humped the furniture.
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_Oh, shit._ "Great," I said, with forced cheerfulness, making a mental inventory of my responsibilities dirtside.
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Despite my recent disillusion with castmember bullshit, I found his schtick comforting.
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The scaffolding made for a nice weenie, a visual draw that would pull the hordes that thronged Debra's Hall of Presidents over for a curious peek or two.
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Dave -- the jerk who'd pissed all over the rehab in the meeting.
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"I fucked up, Dan.
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I fucked it all up."
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"Debra, you are purely full of shit, and your work is trite and unimaginative.
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You're a fucking despoiler and you don't even have the guts to admit it."
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All the history we have with this place -- all the history that the billions who've visited it have -- it's going to be destroyed and replaced with the sterile, thoughtless shit that's taken over the Hall.
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"Oh, she thinks I'm a total bastard.
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~ ~ ~ Sentence 3,063 ~ ~ ~
Not all of us, though: a group of campus shit-disturbers, grad students in the Sociology Department, were on the bleeding edge of the revolution, and they knew what they wanted: control of the Department, oustering of the tyrannical, stodgy profs, a bully pulpit from which to preach the Bitchun gospel to a generation of impressionable undergrads who were too cowed by their workloads to realize what a load of shit they were being fed by the University.
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They held classes out front attended by grade- conscious brown-nosers who worried that the ad-hocs' classes wouldn't count towards their degrees.
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The profs spent their course-times whoring for Whuffie, leading the seminars like encounter groups instead of lectures.
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God, they were bastards.
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"You stupid, deluded asshole," she said, softly.
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"You totter around, pissing and moaning about your little murder, your little health problems -- yes, I've heard -- your little fixation on keeping things the way they are.
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A going-away present from a shitty friend."
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"I've done some pretty shitty things in my day," he said.