This book I will read to my nephew. It goes like this:
"I wouldn't dare go to sleep with you wandering around in this condition - with a head full of acid and wanting to slice me up with that goddamn knife."
He rolled his eyes for a moment, then tried to smile. "Who said anything about slicing you up?" he mumbled. "I just wanted to carve a little Z on your forehead - nothing serious." He shrugged and reached for a cigarette on top of the TV set."
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Hunter S. Thompson.
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