there are times when i really question what i'm doing in order to make a living. like right now, for instance.

i'm editing a book with the following excerpt:

"that night andreas got on marika, puffed, snorted, got off, and immediately fell asleep. long after the train whistles were silent, marika heard the icemen come in. their gleeful voices came through the thin wall. 'try the new poutana,' one of them said. 'her nipples are the biggest i ever saw. as big as oranges.' heracles did not come home at all."

alrighty then.