
Back when Blockbusters were three times as large, you could wander the whole store, from “New Releases” to “Horror” to “Action,” and every movie seemed to be a potential “best movie ever” candidate.

I never had felt any particular fondness for the boy. Only a sort of morbid curiosity on account of the way he looked. His deformity that is.
Reviewed by Matthew Ferrence

Dolan preaches a devil’s sermon. This starved man. This bone cage for black heart. Thirteen searchers circle him in the blizzard’s aftermath. Half his congregation is snowblind, pupils glare-blown wide.

When I dream of the floods, we are sinking. We’re sinking because my tiny arms can’t carry your fat little body. If it weren’t for how short your limbs are, we’d be the same size. Those hams keep weighing us down.