My parents were in the front, and the middle of the car was piled high with suitcases, ice boxes, and junk for the trip. My twin sister, Kirsten, was asleep on a pillow, leaning against the window. I was horny as fuck and slowly rubbing my dick through my shorts. We were moving across the country in the middle of summer, and my sister and I had left behind a boyfriend and girlfriend. My girlfriend and I had been having sex 3 or 4 times a day, mostly oral and quick fucking.
He fought back, the baddest of the bad kids: To become part of a family, he reinvented himself — jettisoning all that anger to become a docile, devoted husband and father. This book lands, as Picoult might say, like a fat black crow on your chest. ABOUT About The Tenth Circle Jodi Picoult offers her most powerful chronicle yet as she explores the unbreakable bond between parent and child, and questions whether you can reinvent yourself in the course of a lifetime -- or if your mistakes are carried forever.
You think Gwyneth Paltrow is bad with her Goopy empire of crap? David Avocado Wolfe is a Gwyneth Paltrow fever dream. He's what I assume she hallucinates after one too many cases of bacterial vaginosis from the jade eggs she sticks up her hoo-ha. Wolfe has a lot of funny beliefs for someone who calls himself an expert.
Five bucks and a glass of whiskey said she could knock out any cowboy in Cascade, Montana with a single punch. After the third or fourth dumb asshole tried to take her up on it, nobody ever had the balls to do it again. We know that she spent the first thirty years of her life as a slave in Hickman County, Tennessee, and that she'd spent some time working on a Mississippi steamboat Proud Mary Tina Turner-style, but aside from all that rollin' on the river stuff all we can truly be certain of is that this six-foot tall, two hundred pound bulldozer of a woman rolled into the rough-and-tumble frontier town of Cascade in with a six-shooter and a flask of whiskey in her work apron, a well-worn ten-gauge shotgun on her lap, and a home-rolled cigar clenched between her teeth, just daring anyone to fuck with her or look at her funny or give her one reason to break his face into bone splinters with an iron-fisted right hook. She would go on to be the toughest goddamned mail carrier you'd ever want to meet, a Montana legend, and the sort of over-the-top head-crushing asskicker that forged the Great American West. Mary rode into Montana from Toledo, Ohio, where she'd been working as a carpenter at a Roman Catholic convent.