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Nitya Prakash

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“Dumpling is the kind of dog that makes people on the street do double- and triple-takes and ask in astonished voices, "What kind of dog IS that?!" His head is way too small for his thick, solid body, and his legs are too spindly. His eyes point away from each other like a chameleon. One side of his mouth curls up a little, half-Elvis, half palsy-victim, and his tongue has a tendency to stick out just a smidgen on that side. He was found as a puppy running down the median of a local highway, and I adopted him from PAWS five years ago, after he had been there for nearly a year. He is, without a doubt, the best thing that ever happened to me. My girlfriend Bennie says it looks like he was assembled by a disgruntled committee. Barry calls him a random collection of dog bits. My mom, in a classic ESL moment, asked upon meeting him, "He has the Jack Daniels in him, leetle bit, no?' I was going to correct her and say Jack Russell, but when you look at him, he does look a little bit like he has the Jack Daniels in him. My oldest nephew, Alex, who watches too much Family Guy and idolizes Stewie, took one look, and then turned to me in all seriousness and said in that weird almost-British accent, "Aunt Alana, precisely what brand of dog is that?" I replied, equally seriously, that he was a purebred Westphalian Stoat Hound. When the kid learns how to Google, I'm going to lose major cool aunt points. Dumpling tilts his head back and licks the underside of my chin, wallowing in love. "Dog, you are going to be the death of me. You have got to let me sleep sometime." These words are barely out of my mouth, when he leaps up and starts barking, in a powerful growly baritone that belies his small stature.”

DogUniqueFamily GuyJack DanielsMixed UpDumplingDog BreedsDisproportionate
Book:Off the Menu
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“Rather than sleep, Tibbets crawled through the thirty-foot tunnel to chat with the waist crew, wondering if they knew what they were carrying. "A chemist's nightmare," the tail gunner, Robert Caron, guessed, then "a physicist's nightmare." "Not exactly," Tibbets hedged. Tibbets was leaving by the time Caron put two and two together: 'Tibbets stayed a little longer, and then started to crawl forward up the tunnel. I remembered something else, and just as the last of the Old Man was disappearing, I sort of tugged at his foot, which was still showing. He came sliding back in a hurry, thinking maybe something was wrong. "What's the matter?" I looked at him and said, "Colonel, are we splitting atoms today?" This time he gave me a really funny look, and said, "That's about it.”

Chills
Book:The Making of the Atomic Bomb
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“You’ll get to watch her die. The last thing you’ll see before all that magic you spent puts you under will be my hands on her throat.” He was doing to Rogan exactly what he’d tried to do to Cornelius. No. You don’t. “I’ll break her. You’ll hear her bones snapping.” My teeth clicked from the cold. “Hurry up. We don’t have all day.” David’s eyes gleamed. “Ready to die?” “Matilda got your email,” I told him. “You sent a death threat to a little girl. You’re a piece of shit. Look at me. Look at my eyes. Do I look scared?” David blinked. “You’re a wart,” I told him. “You need to be removed. I’ll do it and three months from now nobody will remember your name.”

Ilona AndrewsChillsHidden LegacyNevada Baylor
Book:White Hot
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“Of all such reformers Mr. Sentiment is the most powerful. It is incredible the number of evil practices he has put down: it is to be feared he will soon lack subjects and that when he has made the working classes comfortable, and got bitter beer put into proper-sized pint bottles, there will be nothing further for him left to do. Mr. Sentiment is certainly a very powerful man, and perhaps not the less so that his good poor people are so very good; his hard rich people so very hard; and the genuinely honest so very honest. Namby-pamby in these days is not thrown away if it be introduced in the proper quarters. Divine peeresses are no longer interesting, though possessed of every virtue; but a pattern peasant or an immaculate manufacturing hero may talk as much twaddle as one of Mrs. Ratcliffe's heroines, and still be listened to. Perhaps, however, Mr. Sentiment's great attraction is in his second-rate characters. If his heroes and heroines walk upon stilts as heroes and heroines, I fear, ever must, their attendant satellites are as natural as though one met them in the street: they walk and talk like men and women, and live among our friends a rattling, lively life — yes, live, and will live till the names of their callings shall be forgotten in their own, and Buckett and Mrs. Gamp will be the only words left to us to signify detective police officer or a monthly nurse.”

ParodyDickensReformersAuthors On Authors
Book:The Warden
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