Hammered (The Iron Druid Chronicles #3)

Awesome! I'd just bullied Jesus into doing a shot with me. Nobody would ever believe it, but I didn't care. We ordered the insanely expensive stuff, seventy-five dollars for a 1.75-ounce pour of premium Irish whiskey, because if you're doing a shot with Jesus, you don't buy him scotch.

But, look, it is good to have a dream so long as you do not let it gnaw at the substance of your present. I have seen men consumed by their dreams, and it is a sour business. If you cling too tightly to a dream—a poodle bitch or a personal sausage chef or whatever—then you miss the felicity of your heart beating and the smell of the grass growing and the sounds lizards make when you run through the neighborhood with our friend. Your dream should be like a favorite old bone that you savor and cherish and chew upon gently. Then, rather than stealing from you a wasted sigh or the life of an idle hour, it nourishes you, and you become strangely contented by nostalgia for a possible future, so juicy with possibility and redolent of sautéed garlic and decadent slabs of bacon that you feel full when you’ve eaten nothing. And then, one fine day when the sun smiles upon your snout, then the time is right, you bite down hard. The dream is yours. And then you
chew on the next one.

Cool. Can we watch one last movie first?"
"All right, buddy. What'll it be?"
"I think The Boondock Saints, because the Irish guys win. Plus the cat ends badly. It affirms my worldview and I feel validated.

For me, the times I always regret are missed opportunities to say farewell to good people, to wish them long life and say to them in all sincerity, "You build and do not destroy; you sow goodwill and reap it; smiles bloom in the wake of your passing, and I will keep your kindness in trust and share it as occasion arises, so that your life will be a quenching draught of calm in a land of drought and stress." Too often I never get to say that when it should be said. Instead, I leave them with the equivalent of a "Later, dude!" only to discover there would be no later for us.

Here is how you know someone has had a good idea: Other people freely admit to their friends that said idea has changed their lives. Most people today will grant that fire and the wheel are the big two. After that, any attempts to rank the greatest ideas of all time are going to draw lots of argument. You’ll have zealots pimping this god or that on the one hand, scientists pimping Darwin on the other, and then practical people pointing at written language and saying, look, fellas, the reason those ideas have gone viral is because someone figured out how to write them down.

He will spit you and roast you with rosemary, and we will all sample your flesh tonight. Tomorrow you will be shat out into the snow.

Your diplomacy is bold and edgy, sir.

If you've got some hopelessly overmatched heroes fighting evil and some Imperial types marching, John Williams is your guy. You need a song to make people reach for a box of Kleenex, talk to Randy Newman. But if you want creepy atmospherics and spine-shivering chords to back up your casual death threats, you gotta bring in Danny Elfman.

I see. And who is this author?”
“Neil Fucking Gaiman.”
“His second name is Fucking?”
“No, Leif, that’s the honorary second name all celebrities are given by their fans. It’s not an insult, it’s a huge compliment, and he’s earned it. You’d like him. He dresses all in black like you. Read a couple of his books, and then when you meet him, you’ll squee too.”
Leif found the suggestion distasteful. “I would never behave with so little dignity. Nor would I wish to be confronted in such a manner by anyone else. Vampires inspire screams, not squees. Involuntary urination is common, I grant, but it properly flows from a sense of terror, not an ecstatic sense of hero worship.

Is monstrous fuckpuddle,' Perun asserted, and everyone turned to stare at him with equal parts amusement and bemusement. 'What? Is this not English word?' I suggested that if it wasn't a word, it should be, and the others agreed.

I think "The Boondock Saints", because the Irish guys win. Plus the cat ends badly. It affirms my worldview and I feel validated.

I think this man might actually possess supernatural powers. He makes people lose their minds and I’m sure some of them do lose bladder control as well."

"I see. And who is this author"

"Neil Fucking Gaiman."

"His second name is Fucking?"

"No Leif that’s the honorary second name all celebrities are given by their fans. It’s not an insult it’s a huge compliment and he’s earned it.

What's silly is paying five bucks for hot milk and flavored syrup! But now I see what's really been going on all this time! They charge you all that money because they need it for the R & D! Somewhere on the outskirts of Seattle, there's a secret facility with higher security than Area 51, and inside there are men with poor eyesight and bad haircuts wearing white coats, and they're trying to make the Holy Grail of all coffee drinks.


The bacon latte?


No, Atticus, I already told you those exist! I'm talking about the prophecy! 'Out of the steam and the foam and the froth, a man in white with poor eyesight will craft a liquid paradox, and it shall be called the Triple Nonfat Double Bacon Five-Cheese Mocha!'


Oberon, what the F---?

I yawned and stretched luxuriously in the morning. I make noises when I stretch because it feels ten times better than stretching silently.

Jesus "...It sounds like these guys would be filed under Assholes Who do Evil Shit in My Name.

Lord Bacchus, can you hear me? Nod if you can hear me."
Bacchus dropped his hands and nodded.
"You have never killed a Druid all by yourself, and you never will. Only with hordes of Bacchants and Roman legionnaires and the aid of Minerva have you ever managed to slay a single one of us. Your lackeys may get me eventually, and I know that I will never be able to slay you, but admit to yourself now that you, alone, will never prove my equal. The earth obeys me, son, not some petty god of grape and goblet." I switched to English for a postscript, "So suck on that, bitch.

My mouth gaped and I think I might have whimpered. The Norns had obliterated him completely—a creature they’d known for centuries—because of me. It was like watching Rudolph get shot by Santa Claus.

No, they're contemporary witch hunters, based in Russia."
The crease deepened. "Hold on a moment. They sound like assholes?"
I blinked, uncertain I'd heard him correctly. "I beg your pardon?"
Jesus grimaced and pointed at his head. "It's this tiny human brain-I have to have a filing system for all this information or I can't keep track of it all. It sounds like these guys would be filed under Assholes Who Do Evil Shit in My Name."
"Jesus. I mean, wow. That's the name of one of your files?"
"One of my largest, unfortunately.

Now go and stake some vamps. Especially the sparkly emo ones.

Occasionally I am smitten with an acute case of Smug. It can happen to anyone, but it happens most often to people who think they’ve been especially clever.

Oh noes, kitteh haz major angriez!” I said. I turned around to share a laugh with my companions and found them glaring at me. “What?” I asked.
Leif shook a finger and said in a low, menacing tone, “If you tell me I have to talk like an illiterate halfwit to fit into this society, I will punch you.”
“And I’ll pull out your goatee,” Gunnar added.
“Lolcat iz new happeh wai 2 talk,” I explained to them. “U doan haz 2 be kitteh 2 speek it.

-“Say no more,” Leif interrupted. “I understand. I will simply have to kill them all myself.”
-"There he goes again. I’m telling you, Danny Elfman would love to get hold of those lines."
-"Not John Williams?"
-"If you’ve got some hopelessly overmatched heroes fighting evil and some Imperial types marching, John Williams is your guy. You need a song to make people reach for a box of Kleenex, talk to Randy Newman. But if you want creepy atmospherics and spine-shivering chords to back up your casual death threats, you gotta bring in Danny Elfman.

Thank you, Morrigan. This is very helpful,” I said, already feeling myself warming up. “And delivered to me entirely without pain.”
The Morrigan sucker-punched me hard in the face, sending me sprawling in the snow and breaking my nose.
“You spoke too soon and with entirely too much sarcasm,” she said. “We could have parted with a kiss. Remember that....

That's right, there's free beer in Irish paradise. Everyone's jealous.

The function of assholes in the world, just like the asshole we all have, is to spread shit around.

There are some sights that, once seen, can never be unseen. They replay themselves on a loop in your mind’s home-theatre system with Dolby surround sound until you’re so desperate to be rid of them that you’ll resort to other loops simply to dislodge them for a while.

There's a reason Bath & Body Works doesn't have a line of products called Huge Fucking Squirrel.

Thunder gods don't hide."
The Russian shrugged. "I am not like Thor. I have Russian depth of character. And I like to help people, not hurt them. Usually I help with vodka. You want some?

What I'd truly been avoiding was love, the strongest binding there is, and the pain that scrapes at your insides when the bond is forcefully broken.

Wisdom eludes me yet, but foolishness I captured long ago and to this day it is my constant companion, though many people consider me wise.

Wooo!’ he said, slamming his shot glass down and coughing a bit. ‘That’s good stuff.’
I agreed heartily. ‘Shall we do another one?’ I asked.
‘Oh no,’ Jesus said quietly, his eyes growing round. ‘This is one of those situations where I have to stop and ask myself, what would I do?