Quip Show

The next voice to speak up was not the Lieutenant’s but mine. My mouth was dry, and my groin felt damp. I said I didn’t give a good God damn what Mrs. Fedder had to say on the subject of Seymour. Or, for that matter, what any professional dilettante or amateur bitch had to say. I said that from the time Seymour was ten years old, every summa-cum-laude Thinker and intellectual men’s-room attendant in the country had been having a go at him.

“Raise High the Roof Beam Carpenters”