George Alec Effinger

They wait in clutching haste for fate to fill the inside straight of their happiness.

We’re going to tell you about what it’s like, and what just might happen to you, and if you still want to be a writers we’ll know you’re insane.

The longer I observe the way people really act, the happier I am that I never pay attention to them.

I looked good, faster than light with a little money in my pocket. You know what I mean. I was the same as always: the clothes looked first-rate. That was fine, because most people only look at the clothes, anyway.

The most frequent expression in the Muslim world is inshallah, if God wills. It removes all guilt: blame it on Allah. If the oasis dries up and blows away, it was Allah’s will. If you get caught sleeping with your brother’s wife, it was Allah’s will. Getting your hand or your cock or your head chopped off in reprisal is Allah’s will, too. Nothing much gets done in the Budayeen without discussing how Allah is going to feel about it.

I do not attempt here to derogate my brother’s reading habits, but merely to indicate the disparity in our interests.

I shook my head ruefully. Police departments all over the world were identical in two respects: they all have a fondness for breaking your head open for little or no provocation, and they can’t see the simple truth if it’s lying in front of them naked with its legs spread. The police don’t enforce laws; they don’t even get busy until after the laws are broken. They solve crimes at a pitifully low rate of success. What the police are, to be honest, is a kind of secretarial pool that records the names of the victims and the statements of the witnesses. After enough time passes, they can safely shove this information to the back of the filing system to make room for more.

Now we have the prospect of a religious war on our hands, with the attendant proliferation of “heresies” and two separate but equal inquisitions.

Perhaps he could organize everyone. He could stand up on something and shout slogans until he had attracted enough attention. Then he could begin some rambling speech, hoping that the people around him would be so desperate for leadership they wouldn’t notice the absurdity of what he said.

The network was running a pre-recorded tape of a morning quiz show. The contestants looked vapid, the announcer cheerfully bored, the questions pointless, and the prizes undesirable.

How quickly I could clean this desk," she thought, "if only the wastebasket were larger.

I liked being the screwer rather than the screwee.

The universe doesn't have secrets," I said cynically, "only lies and swindles.

Are you happy, Norman?" asked Brant.
Well, sure, I guess.
That's what I thought," she said bitterly. "Neither am I.

Sometimes the only vitamins I get are in the lime slices in my gimlets.