So, you know how spam now comes with a few random paragraphs of text to throw off the filters? Well, I like this example:
She broke it into two pieces, and dropped it into the plastic bag. Don't tell me I'm crazy, there's something down there! She finished struggling into her coat and stopped shaking her finger long enough to rake the zipper up. He remembered the dream he'd had during one of his gray-outs: Annie cocking the shotgun's twin triggers and saying If you want your freedom so badly, Paul, I'll be happy to grant it to you. Have a look, if you like, but I promise you I don't have your trooper tied to the bed. "Annie, how could I possibly get out in the shed with all those locks on the kitchen door? Although I rather suspect that you may go into a coma before too long; I believe you are in a near-comatose state now, and I have had a lot of.I find funerals very grim and depressing. "Mumpf! From now on he would be the one to wonder about that. "He could hardly believe it "DO YOU?
Whatever the reason, something had disturbed the dream, something was whittling away the circumference of that hole in the paper through which he saw. Yes, just her friend, he thought with half-hysterical irony, and then his own eyes were drawn back to the clearing. It would be nice to credit himself with such selfless motives, but it wasn't the truth. As Geoffrey watched, more and more bees flew into the clearing from all points of the compass — yet it was clear to him, even in his current distraction, that most of them were coming from the west, where the great dark stone face of the goddess loomed. "He nodded, although the truth was that he could not feel anything — this medication on top of what he'd already given himself was rolling him toward unconsciousness at an alarming rate, and he was beginning to see the room through gauzy layers of gray. Saw him crawling across the packed dirt floor, and the little noises Paul heard weren't rats but the sounds of his approach, and there was but a single thought in the cooling clay of the trooper's dead brain: You killed me. And then one day the hole widened to VistaVision width and the light shone through like a sunray in a Cecil B. Some part of him that was as addicted to the chapter-plays as Annie had been as a child had decided he could not die until he saw how it all came out. He reached across his body with the pin and slipped it into the keyhole, listening as the sportscaster in his mind (so vivid! Paul caught a last glimpse of horrified brown eyes, saw tatters of brown khaki uniform shirt hanging from an arm raised in a feeble effort at protection, and when the eyes were gone, Paul turned away. That prescient part of his mind saw her before he knew he was seeing her, and must surely have understood her before he knew he was understanding her — why else did he associate such dour, ominous images with her? She looked bigger that way, with her shoulders rounding the pink housecoat, her hair like some battered helmet. That was because most editors were like women who drive into service stations and tell the mechanic to fix whatever it is that's making that knocking sound under the hood or going wonk-wonk inside the dashboard, and please have it done an hour ago. "Oh, Annie, if only someone would, he thought, and before he could stop himself he had snapped: "You also cut off my fucking foot! He remembered Geoffrey saying You must not cry in front of her, old man — that is the one thing you must never do! His eyes were bulging, his mouth was open, his tongue straight down between his teeth like the pull on a window-shade. Paul slid down in the chair, still slumped to the right, and screamed again at the pain in his lower legs. He was surprised to find it still looked to him like one of Wells's striding machines of destruction. And, as he also so often did, he tried to block this memory; and found himself a second too late. He realized he was seeing her with all her masks put aside — this was the real Annie, the inside Annie. Paul flicked it and saw a neat shed addition which ran the length of the house on its windward side. His own door was open; he watched her approach down the hall in her old brown cowboy boots and her blue-jeans with the keyring dangling from one of the belt-loops and her man's tee-shirt now spotted with blood.