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Marcus Halberstram for two at 7:00.

No, l want to know, okay ? I came here for the cilantro crawfish gumbo,

which is, after all, the only excuse one could have for being in this restaurant,

which is, by the way, almost completely empty.

I'm very sorry, sir. J&B straight, and a Corona.

Would you like to hear-- Double Absolut martini.

Yes, sir. Would you like to hear the specials ?

Not if you want to keep your spleen.

This is a real beehive of activity, Halberstram. This place is hot.

Very hot. Listen, the mud soup and charcoal arugula...

are outrageous here.

Yeah, well, you're late. Hey, I'm a child ofdivorce.

Give me a break.

I see they've omitted the pork loin with lime Jell-O. We should've gone to Dorsia.

I could've gotten us a table. Nobody goes there anymore.

Is that Ivana Trump ?

Oh, geez, Patrick. I mean, Marcus. What are you thinking ?

Why would Ivana be at Texarkana ?

So, uh, wasn't Rothchild originally handling the Fisher account ?

How'd you get it ? Well, I could tell you that, Halberstram,

but then I'd have to kill you.

I like to dissect girls. Did you know I'm utterly insane ?

Great tan, Marcus. I mean, really impressive.

Where do you tan ? Salon.

I've got a tanning bed at home. You should look into it.

And, uh, Cecilla.

How is she ? Where is she tonight ?

Cecilla's, uh-- Well, you know Cecilla.

I think she's having dinner with, um, Evelyn Williams.

Evelyn ? Great ass.

Goes out with that loser Patrick Bateman. What a dork.

Another martini, Paul ?

I pour some Plax antiplaque formula into a stainless-steel tumbler and swish it around my mouth for thirty seconds. Then I squeeze Rembrandt onto a faux-tortoiseshell toothbrush and start brushing my teeth (too hung over to floss properly - but maybe I flossed before bed last night?) and rinse with Listerine. Then I inspect my hands and use a nailbrush. I take the ice-pack mask off and use a deep-pore cleanser lotion, then an herb-mint facial masque which I leave on for ten minutes while I check my toenails. Then I use the Probright tooth polisher and next the Interplak tooth polisher (this in addition to the toothbrush) which has a speed of 4200 rpm and reverses direction forty-six times per second; the larger tufts clean between teeth and massage the gums while the short ones scrub the tooth surfaces.
I rinse again, with Cepacol. I wash the facial massage off with a spearmint face scrub. The shower has a universal all-directional shower head that adjusts within a thirty-inch vertical range. It's made from Australian gold-black brass and covered with a white enamel finish. In the shower I use first a water-activated gel cleanser, then a honey-almond body scrub, and on the face an exfoliating gel scrub. Vidal Sassoon shampoo is especially good at getting rid of the coating of dried perspiration, salts, oils, airborne pollutants and dirt that can weigh down hair and flatten it to the scalp which can make you look older. The conditioner is also good - silicone technology permits conditioning benefits without weighing down the hair which can also make you look older.
On weekends or before a date I prefer to use the Greune Natural Revitalizing Shampoo, the conditioner and the Nutrient Complex. These are formulas that contain D-panthenol, a vitamin-B-complex factor; polysorbate 80, a cleansing agent for the scalp; and natural herbs.

In the early light of a May dawn this is what the living room of my apartment looks like: Over the white marble and granite gas-log fireplace hangs an original David Onica. It's a six-foot-by-four-foot portrait of a naked woman, mostly done in muted grays and olives, sitting on a chaise longue watching MTV, the backdrop a Martian landscape, a gleaming mauve desert scattered with dead, gutted fish, smashed plates rising like a sunburst above the woman's yellow head, and the whole thing is framed in black aluminum steel. The painting overlooks a long white down-filled sofa and a thirty-inch digital TV set from Toshiba; it's a high-contrast highly defined model plus it has a four-corner video stand with a high-tech tube combination from NEC with a picture-in-picture digital effects system (plus freeze-frame); the audio includes built-in MTS and a five-watt-per-channel on-board amp. A Toshiba VCR sits in a glass case beneath the TV set; it's a super-high-band Beta unit and has built-in editing function including a character generator with eight-page memory, a high-band record and playback, and three-week, eight-event timer. A hurricane halogen lamp is placed in each corner of the living room. Thin white venetian blinds cover all eight floor-to-ceiling windows. A glass-top coffee table with oak legs by Turchin sits in front of the sofa, with Steuben glass animals placed strategically around expensive crystal ashtrays from Fortunoff, though I don't smoke. Next to the Wurlitzer jukebox is a black ebony Baldwin concert grand piano. A polished white oak floor runs throughout the apartment.

On the other side of the room, next to a desk and a magazine rack by Gio Ponti, is a complete stereo system (CD player, tape deck, tuner, amplifier) by Sansui with six-foot Duntech Sovereign 2001 speakers in Brazilian rosewood. A downfilled futon lies on an oakwood frame in the center of the bedroom. Against the wall is a Panasonic thirty-one-inch set with a direct-view screen and stereo sound and beneath it in a glass case is a Toshiba VCR. I'm not sure if the time on the Sony digital alarm clock is correct so I have to sit up then look down at the time flashing on and off on the VCR, then pick up the Ettore Sottsass push-button phone that rests on the steel and glass nightstand next to the bed and dial the time number. A cream leather, steel and wood chair designed by Eric Marcus is in one corner of the room, a molded plywood chair in the other. A black-dotted beige and white Maud Sienna carpet covers most of the floor. One wall is hidden by four chests of immense bleached mahogany drawers.

I walk over to a short, fat Jewish woman, old and hideously dressed. “Listen,” I say. “I have a reservation. Bateman. Where’s the maitre d’? I know Jackie Mason,” and she sighs, “I can seat you. Don’t need a reservation,” as she reaches for a Menu. She leads me to a horrible table in back near the rest rooms and I grab the menu away from her and rush to a booth up front and I’m appalled by the cheapness of the food —”Is this a goddamn joke?”—and sensing a waitress is near I order without looking up. “A cheeseburger. I’d like a cheeseburger and I’d like it medium rare.” “I’m sorry, sir,” the waitress says. “No cheese. Kosher,” and I have no idea what the fuck she’s talking about and I say, “Fine. A kosherburger but with cheese, Monterey Jack perhaps, and—oh god,” I moan, sensing more cramps coming on. “No cheese, sir,” she says. “Kosher …” “Oh god, is this a nightmare, you fucking Jew?” I mutter, and then, “Cottage cheese? Just bring it?” “I’ll get the manager,” she says. “Whatever. But bring me a beverage in the meanwhile,” I hiss. “Yes?” she asks. “A … vanilla … milk shake …” “No milk shakes. Kosher,” she says, then, “I’ll get the manager.” “No, wait.” “Mister I’ll get the manager.” “What in the fuck is going on?” I ask, seething, my platinum AmEx already slapped on the greasy table. “No milk shake. Kosher,” she says, thick-lipped, just one of billions of people who have passed over this planet. “Then bring me a fucking … vanilla … malted!” I roar, spraying spit all over my open menu. She just stares. “Extra thick!” I add. She walks away to get the manager and when I see him approaching, a bald carbon copy of the waitress, I get up and scream, “Fuck yourself you retarded cocksucking kike,” and I run out of the delicatessen and onto the street

i learn that the hảd way.

here is the biggest mistake u can make as a guy
overly investing yourself into a girl that doesn't want you
putting the goals and ambition aside to keep them in your life
never depend on someone to give you happiness
i've made that mistake so many times in my life
be better than me
learn to be happy on your own
a girl should add happieness, not be the reason for it

i learn that the hard way.

here is the biggest mistake u can make as a guy

you remember her beautiful smile or sound of her laugh while trying to move on.

epitome of beauty

u stop overthinking and finally being happy again

who else
what would our kids look like
no no dont jump to fast
focus
he is quite the gentleman
he is coming closer
just say something
anything
uh strong hands
wait dont go
u can not leave me here
think about the children
well its better to have loved

me ưith girl in my age
and me with older women.

Fuck off

PhuHo4:

i learn that the hảd way.

here is the biggest mistake u can make as a guy
overly investing yourself into a girl that doesn't want you
putting the goals and ambition aside to keep them in your life
never depend on someone to give you happiness
i've made that mistake so many times in my life
be better than me
learn to be happy on your own
a girl should add happieness, not be the reason for it

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she doesnt love u. she loves attention you give her. And u want to know something? she also likes the attention of others and when its new its always better

u re type ò péion who notice everything but stay silent

>“Listen. I’ll be daring,” Anne says finally. “I’ll have a Diet Coke with rum.”
>Scott sighs, then smiles, beaming really. “Good.”
>“That’s a caffeine-free Diet Coke, right?” Anne asks the waiter.
>“You know,” I interrupt, “you should have it with Diet Pepsi. It’s much better.”
>“Really?” Anne asks. “What do you mean?”
>“You should have the Diet Pepsi instead of the Diet Coke,” I say. “It’s much better. It’s fizzier. It has a cleaner taste. It mixes better with rum and has a lower sodium content.”
>The waiter, Scott, Anne, and even Courtney—they all stare at me as if I’ve offered some kind of diabolical, apocalyptic observation, as if I were shattering a myth highly held, or destroying an oath that was solemnly regarded, and it suddenly seems almost hushed in Deck Chairs. Last night I rented a movie called Inside Lydia’s Ass and while on two Halcion and in fact sipping a Diet Pepsi, I watched as Lydia—a totally tan bleached-blonde hardbody with a perfect ass and great full tits—while on all fours gave head to this guy with a huge cock while another gorgeous blonde little hardbody with a perfectly trimmed blond pussy knelt behind Lydia and after eating her ass out and sucking on her cunt, started to push a long, greased silver vibrator into Lydia’s ass and fucked her with it while she continued to eat her pussy and the guy with the huge cock came all over Lydia’s face as she sucked his balls and then Lydia bucked to an authentic-looking, fairly strong orgasm and then the girl behind Lydia crawled around and licked the come from Lydia’s face and then made Lydia suck on the vibrator. The new Stephen Bishop came out last Tuesday and at Tower Records yesterday I bought the compact disc, the cassette and the album because I wanted to own all three formats.

>is that a Silmaril?
New ring, whaddya think?
>whoa, very nice
Picked it up from Eregion yesterday
>good coloring
That's ruby. And the lettering is called Sindar Rail
>It's very cool Grisnakh, but that's nothing.
>look at this.
>mithril, with Quenya type
>what do you think?
Nice.
>Jesus. This is really super. How'd a goblin like you get so tasteful?
>I can't believe Gothmog prefers Ugluk's ring to mine
>but wait. You ain't seen nothing yet. Blue sapphire, gold band, Noldor.
Impressive. Very nice... Let's see Sauron's ring.
>Look at that subtle off-gold coloring. The tasteful thickness of it. Oh my God, it even has a watermark

“Listen, what about dinner?” I say, casually changing subjects.
“How about that Indian-Californian place on the Upper West Side?” Hamlin suggests.
.
I’m on the verge of tears by the time we arrive at Pastels since I’m positive we won’t get seated but the table is good, and relief that is almost tidal in scope washes over me in an awesome wave. At Pastels McDermott knows the maitre d’ and though we made our reservations from a cab only minutes ago we’re immediately led past the overcrowded bar into the pink, brightly lit main dining room and seated at an excellent booth for four, up front. It’s really impossible to get a reservation at Pastels and I think Van Patten, myself, even Price, are impressed by, maybe even envious of, McDermott’s prowess in securing a table. After we piled into a cab on Water Street we realized that no one had made reservations anywhere and while debating the merits of a new Californian-Sicilian bistro on the Upper East Side—my panic so great I almost ripped Zagat in two—the consensus seemed to emerge. Price had the only dissenting voice but he finally shrugged and said, “I don’t give a shit,” and we used his portaphone to make the reservation. He slipped his Walkman on and turned the volume up so loud that the sound of Vivaldi was audible even with the windows halfway open and the noise of the uptown traffic blasting into the taxi. Van Patten and McDermott made rude jokes about the size of Tim’s dick and I did too. Outside Pastels Tim grabbed the napkin with Van Patten’s final version of his carefully phrased question for GQ on it and

This was a terrible, terrible tragedy and my heart goes out to their families. We can at least take solace in the fact that they were warned before the implosion occurred that the hull was about to experience catastrophic failure and they were thus fully aware of their imminent and instantaneous deaths, and were actively trying to escape this horrific fate because we know they dropped their ballasts in a futile attempt to frantically ascend to the surface. Pure, visceral fear and helplessness was surely felt by all. In fact, they undoubtedly could acoustically hear the hull delaminating in real time, regardless of the warning system. I can picture it in my brain. Imagine the camera panning up to the 19 year old's face as he looks to his father in their final moments of absolute existential dread. Cut to dolly track close up of Stockton Rush initiating the ballast release function, possibly screaming, we'll have to brainstorm that shot. Cut to outside the vessel with a full view of the implosion, minimal to no music or score playing for full effect. Anyways terrible tragedy heart goes out to families

Ocean explorer, have I ever told you about my former fiancé, Caledon Hockley? He once took me on a luxurious trip aboard the most majestic vessel created by man. A great man of many virtues and success, he used to pamper me and shower me with expensive gifts, basically treating me like a Queen. Oh, he loved me so very dearly and with utter loyalty, this made me hate his guts and thus I was even considering suicide just to escape from his kindness and affection. I showed him how grateful I was by cheating on him with a poor lower-class bum, who hadn't taken a bath in month and had achieved nothing of worth in his entire life. After spreading my legs for him, I watched him die horribly in freezing water, from the comfort of a piece of wood that had room for two but that I kept only for myself. I'm telling you this, because even though I've only known this bum for a couple of days and I now have a loyal husband, loving children and grandchildren, even to this day, the thrill of cheating with a dirty no-gooder just to spite Cal and watching the life escape from his eyes as his body shut down from agonizing hypothermia is still the best memory of my life and still gives my old vagina shivering tingles. I stole one of Cal's most valuable diamond necklaces, but not before leaving him a gratuitous letter filled with poisonous insults, and after we made it back to shore, I never talked to him again. Cal killed himself shortly afterwards due to financial distress. Although the diamond necklace is still to this day worth an immense fortune and holds significant historical value for you, I just threw it in the ocean on a whim 5 minutes ago. Did you know it belonged to the great King Louis XVI? I can't imagine the trouble Cal went through just to obtain it for me. He was a good fiancé.

If the sub didn’t implode I’d imagine the passengers are probably in the early stages of carbon monoxide poisoning right now and are panicking. There’s a non zero chance they might have started killing each other to preserve oxygen just a bit longer. Either way if the sub is on the bottom of the ocean it will take weeks or even months to recover so no hope of survival. Their only shot is if the sub resurfaced and is drifting on the ocean surface somewhere. But if that’s the case it’s going to be incredibly hard to spot since it’s white and must have drifted close to a 100 miles away by now.

I think it is a mistake analyzing the messaging about True Crime too specifically. Yes you're right it is simple, elegant imo but simple because there is a bigger universal point about how how individuals in the modern techno-economy are incentivized to pimp out their personal trauma and history. just look at a cottage industry sector like asian-american poetry and I'm sure you can imagine the performative artifice that keeps the wheels turning.
You'll recall at the beginning the lad just wanted to make a film about a man that protects eggs as the last guardian against the commodification of nature. I'll spare you the rant but yeah I know I'm overselling it, I'm just taken aback how many hated it in such a dismal season yet few express having understood it, mostly seething about blacks

Imagine being a Hamilton fan right now. You've been so smug about Hamilton being the best because nobody could prove he wasn't.
You could scoff at anyone saying Max was better because you knew he wasn't gonna be close anyway.
Then suddenly people start talking about there being an actual title fight, you think your hero is gonna prove you right and then.. he starts losing again and again, being completely outclassed.
You start actively denying reality, claiming his car must be slower even when races like Monza, Russia and Turkey prove the opposite.
Everytime things start looking good for your guy, everytime things start looking bad for Max, it just turns around and Max is ahead again.
Max qualifies bad? He takes the lead in turn 1. Max has a bad start? He undercuts from 5 seconds away. Max has no teammate to back him up while Bottas is left to slow him down? Max already passed Hamilton can't get closer. Max' tyre explodes? Hamilton fails to turn left. Max gets punted into the fucking wall twice in a row? He just retakes the lead after summer break ends, like it's no big deal.
Even with the proven slower car Max then wins it all in the end. And now there's a third season of humiliation coming.
It must be absolutely maddening.

the last time i watched this movie i was a kid who had a crush on Peter Pan
but now i see who the real heartthrob is