"Now, I had heard that word at least ten times a day from my old man. He worked in profanity the way other artists might work in oils or clay. It was his true medium; a master."
Miracle on 34th is already DVR'd. Starting as soon as my fat fingers finish wrapping, along with an egg nog liberally seasoned with some Captain Morgan.
"Scut Farkus! What a rotten name! We were trapped. There he stood, between us and the alley. Scut Farkus staring out at us with his yellow eyes. He had yellow eyes! So, help me, God! Yellow eyes!"