#BUT WRITTEN FRENCH...SACRE BLEU

[hopefuture]

I need to drink my sorrows after that Arcane finale jesus CHRIST

[marvus-xoloto]

SILAS YOU DEVILISH FIEND. YOU ABSOLUTE MENACE. how dare you. how DARE you itty the bitty so hard. do you know what you do to people?? now im gonna be thinking about ch.7 for a week straight and then EAT the entire thing. my god that was SO GOOD, it may have taken you the strength to pull the fucking moon out of the sky, but it was worth every ounce and every minute of waiting.

im kissing itty bitty on the mouth >:( with PASSION and INTENT

ugh, fr tho, that Marvus Moment threw me in for a loop, it was so cool to see aaa, thats EXACTLY how i picured his marvus tm fuckery working. it was soft, it was sweet, it was weird and a little stinky, it was the cheese and crackers, it was the entire charcuterie board <3

I'm so glad the itty had bittied all the way to the end! I was very nervous about it ^^' ha.

Yesss haha. I was actually originally going to scrap that, but then I saw that post about like, being authentic? And I realized that piece of the original draft(s) was the most authentic thing I'd written yet for this chapter. Did you experience my little easter egg btw? Idk it's like one like of text lmfao but I was so proud I could pull that off.

It truly was the french cheeses of endings. Sacre fuckin bleu. I like that imagery though! From now on, I'm going to imagine all of my fics as little charcuterie boards that I'm sharing with my friends <3

[anotheronechicagobog]

Crockett Marcel x reader D’accord (Oneshot)

Written by: @anotheronechicagobog​

Warnings: Mature themes, America has HORRENDOUS gun laws, seriously as a Canadian I get second hand anxiety about your gun laws/judicial system (even though Canada’s is far from perfect)/healthcare system, April is not written well here but I’m gonna do a nice fic for her soon, pardon my French (literally, quite a bit of this fic is in French with translations)

You’d been surprised to find another Francophone in Chicago. After you’d moved there from Quebec, you weren’t expecting much. Only a couple of “Oui, oui,” and “hon, hon, hon”’s from some unintentionally insulting Americans. So when, during your fifth shift, you swore in your native tongue “merde!” you’d been pleasantly surprised when Crockett had responded without missing a beat.

You’d shown him French-Canadian food, he’d shown you Cajun food, and you had each gained a confidant at med. And you’d both needed it. You were in a new country with very different social customs and laws, and April had kissed him while Choi was deployed leaving him a magnet for gossip. You’d both just needed someone to talk to, and speaking French with each other was just an added comfort.

“What did Doris say this time?”

“I don’t care that people are talking about me, I really don’t. Gossip is just part of hospital life and that’s fine, but I am so tired of being glared at and avoided. People aren’t even bothering to get to know me. I am just so tired about having to fight for a basic level of confidence in my colleagues for something that I didn’t even do! She kissed me, she just walked up and kissed me, how is this my fault?”

“I’m sorry Cherie.”

“I know. How was your day?”

“Anderson pretended to shoot at me again.”

“Seriously? You should report him to HR.”

“I don’t know, I don’t want to be overreacting.”

“He is pretending to have a gun and waving it at you on a daily basis because he knows that you are from a country with decent gun laws. What about the day he comes in with a real gun? And loaded? What if he actually shoots you? You need to report him, Cher.”

“Okay, I will. At the end of the day.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You sat at Molly’s away from the main group, shunned by your colleagues. “It was just a joke, Y/N, can’t you take a joke?” But it didn’t feel like a joke. Not to you. You already felt like you should be wearing a kevlar vest on a regular basis; you didn’t need to be made fun of for your very real fear. You were busy moping when someone plopped down in the stool beside you. “Mon journée a sucé. Dites-moi que le vôtre était meilleur.” (My day sucked. Tell me yours was better)

“Voyez-vous la foule de gens qui me regardent et qui parlent de moi là-bas?” (Do you see the crowd of people looking at me and talking about me there)

“Zut. J'espérais vraiment que ça irait mieux.” (Damn. I was really hoping it would get better)

“Moi aussi.” (Me too)

“The hell are you two speaking? Swedish?”

“... It’s French, Hermann.”

“If you say so Y/N... You guys want another round?”

“Yes, please, kind sir.” Trying to make a joke with the man everyone said had a heart of gold and a belly full of laughs at all times.

“Well, okay then. French people are weird.” Both you and Crockett sucked in a breath. Explaining was always the hardest part. “We are not French people. Crockett is Cajun, and I am French-Canadian.”

“Okay, I don’t know what Cajun is, but isn’t French-Canadian just a Canadian who speaks French?”

“Mon Dieu.” (My God)

“Sacre bleu (Damn it), Hermann. No, a French-Canadian is not just a Canadian who speaks French, and unless you want to start a war in a country you don’t even live in, I advise you to refrain from speaking in that manner again. And just for the record, a Cajun person is someone descended from Acadia settlers in Nova Scotia who left for Louisianna to flee the British.”

“... Okay. I’m sorry I asked.” You just held your breath as Crockett swore under his breath. You opened your eyes, grabbed your glass over bourbon and downed it. “Je sais que je viens juste d'arriver, mais je veux déjà partir.” (I know I just arrived, but I already want to leave)

“Allons-y alors.” (Let’s go then) Marcel threw cash down on the bar before you could argue and helped you put your coat on. “Avez-vous déjà mangé des tapas? J'ai entendu dire qu'il y avait un super endroit à quelques pâtés de maisons d'ici.” (Have you ever eaten tapas? Heard there is a great place a few blocks from here)

“Montrez le chemin.” (Lead the way)

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There was a new hot button topic of gossip the next day at MED. You and Marcel. Of course, no one was that cordial. ‘He couldn’t have a nurse so he went for an intern?’, ‘What, she thought being an intern is too difficult so she’s hooking up with a doc so she doesn’t fail?’. None of anything they were saying was true. First of all, April kissed and then rejected him all while she was dating someone else, second, he wasn’t even your attending. You did your ED rotation before he got here. You were on your pediatrics rotation, and kicking ass at it. Third, he didn’t know anyone here besides you thanks to April, so who exactly was he gonna say ‘give her a pass for me’ to? You just rolled your eyes and continued working. At the end of the day, that was what would speak for you. 

You hadn’t been very close to April, or anyone in the ED really, they’d all had their own drama going on the entire time you were there, so you just faded into the background. But now, April was making an effort to talk to you. You would have found it odd, had it not been at the time the rumours were really flying, and if you hadn’t seen the burning question behind her eyes. She was jealous. She damn well wouldn’t admit it, but she was. And you were angry at her, and at least you were grown up enough to admit that. She had hurt Crockett. Damaged his work relationships and reputation before he’d even started. So you acted like you enjoyed her company. You talked about literally anything that wasn’t Crockett Marcel. You watched as her questioning eyes grew more and more desperate. If she was going to come to you acting like a jealous girlfriend she should have had the decency to be honest. But she wasn’t. And Crockett was paying the price. So you tortured her a bit. It wasn’t that bad, honestly. Plus, what made her think she had any right to know about relationships you may or may not be in? But her feelings did become noticeable. To the other nurses, doctors, interns. Suddenly everyone was aware that she had kissed Crockett, and that Ethan wasn’t the only doctor she had feelings for. You felt bad for Crockett, he’d gotten sucked into a wormhole before he even knew his feet were leaving the ground. The same thing could be said for Dr. Choi’s fist. 

You pushed back the curtain and marched over to Crockett who was too busy arguing with Maggie to notice you at first. “Have you gotten a CT done yet?”

“Oh- Dr. Y/L/N. Uh, let me check. Uh... Here.” Maggie handed you and a skeptical Will the tablet with Crockett’s head CT already loaded. The black and white image should have comforted you. It looked good, no injuries or anomalies. But you kept looking, you kept gripping the tablet no matter how much your knuckles, and fingers, and wrists were starting to hurt. “Cher?” You slowly looked up, Maggie and Halstead had left the room at some point. “You seein’ something Halstead didn’t?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have the voice to. Instead, you regarded his face intently. Choi had only gotten in a single punch, thankfully, so there was only bruising around his right eye. You moved to stand in front of him, standing in between his legs which were dangling off the side of the bed. “Cher?” The bruise was already purple, the section around the forehead turning black. Your lips pressed into a firm line. After setting the tablet on the end table you gently took Crockett’s face in your hands. Ignoring the rest of him, you gently drifted your fingers around the bruising. Your stomach sunk the more you looked at it. It wasn’t inflamed, there wasn’t any bleeding, his CT was clear. But you just couldn’t shake the weight in your gut. You didn’t even know what you were looking for. But you kept looking. “Cher.” No inflammation. “Cher.” No bleeding. “Cher.” Clear CT. “Cher.” Keep looking. “Cher.” Crockett delicately grabbed your wrist, finally grabbing your attention, bringing more than the bruise on his eye into your focus. “I’m okay, Cher.” His eyes were boring into yours, pleading for you to listen to him. He moved his hand from your wrist up overtop of your hand before intertwining your fingers together and leaning his face into your clasped hands at the side of his face.

“D’accord?” (Okay?)

“D’accord.” (Okay) He smiled gingerly. Still looking at you with soft eyes that made you melt he opened his mouth, you could tell that words in his native language were on the tip of his tongue, when the curtains in the room were pushed back suddenly. April stood, tall, strong, and with a look of utter betrayal on her face. No one in the room said anything, no one in the room breathed. Slowly, as if she were avoided a cornered coyote, April backed out of the room, her chest starting to shake, her eyes watering. Soon you were left alone in the room, your hand still wrapped in Crockett’s. Now in full view of the entire ED staff and gossip mill.

[clexa--warrior]

It's pretty goddamn clear that the motherfuckin' quid has a motherfuckin' pro quo in the weird pseudo-transcript of the July 24 phone call between Donald Trump and President Volodymyr Zelensky of Ukraine. And a great deal of it all comes down to the word "though." Zelensky says, "I would also like to thank you for your great support in the area of defense. We are ready to continue to cooperate for the next steps. Specifically we are almost ready to buy more Javelins from the United States for defense purposes." The very next thing is Trump saying, "I would like you to do us a favor though" before going into some conspiracy theories involving Ukraine and, no shit, Hillary Clinton's email server, with Attorney General William Barr tossed into the mix. And that's before he brought up Joe and Hunter Biden by name, which he totally did, unprompted. Now, I have a PhD in this shit so that gives me superpowers to interpret texts of various sorts. But a freshman would know that "I would like you to do us a favor though" is a conditional sentence, taking what was said before and applying demands before any action is taken on the previous sentence. In other words, it is obvious unless you're a fucking moron or a Republican or both that Trump was saying, "Hey, Voldemort, you gotta do something for me if I'm gonna do something for you." In otherer words, it's the fucking dictionary definition of quid pro quo. And no matter how many times "No quid pro quo" is repeated like "No collusion," there was quid pro quo here. And, by the way, there was an attempt at collusion. But, really, the transcript is also fucked up because it reveals the way that foreign leaders have to abase themselves before Trump's massive ass...I mean, "ego," his massive ego.  Zelensky has to tickle Trump's taint with a feather, probably because it's the only way to get the dumb pile of rotting tangerine rinds to pretend to listen. Right at the outset, Zelensky praises Trump for showing him how to win an election: "I would like to confess to you that I had an opportunity to learn from you. We used quite a few of your skills and knowledge and were able to use it as an example for our elections." Then he kisses Trump's ring even more, repeating his overused phrases to him: "[W]e are trying to work hard because we wanted to drain the swamp here in our country...we want to have a new format and a new type of government. You are a great teacher for us and in that." That's the kind of flattery that would have made a French monarch in the Restoration say, "Sacre bleu, stop fingering my asshole." Not Trump, though. He revels in how world leaders are compelled to fondle his enlarged prostate. It gets worse because of course it does. "Actually last time I traveled to the United States, I stayed in New York near Central Park," Zelensky probes, "and I stayed at the Trump Tower." No, really. And that right there should be another obvious emoluments violation. The head of a foreign country is trying to curry favor with the president by telling him that his country spent money at one of Trump's terrible properties. It's what the Constitution specifically says is not allowed. Trump is such an intimidating dickhole throughout the conversation. He praises Zelensky for winning and then immediately starts to strongarm him. Seriously, this is rank mobster shit right here: "I will say that we do a lot for Ukraine. We spend a lot of effort and a lot of time. Much more than the European countries are doing and they should be helping you more than they are. Germany does almost nothing for you. All they do is talk and I think it’s something that you should really ask them about." I mean, come the fuck on.  Hell, twice, Trump informs Zelensky, "The United States has been very very good to Ukraine." Replace countries with names like "the Lasagna Family" or "Fat Cavatelli" and it's right out of a terrible Godfather ripoff. The discomfort that Zelensky is obviously feeling comes across as he tries to appease this fucking asshole who sounds like an overwritten villain character in a Ukrainian soap opera. He agrees to whatever Trump is saying, even as he's trying to figure out what the fuck Trump is saying. He talks about how great it'll be to visit with him while Trump goes on about the fired prosecutor (the one at the center of Biden bullshit), praising the prosecutor who most of the European Union and President Obama wanted fired because he wasn't going after corruption, including not investigating Burisma, the company that put Hunter Biden on its board. So Zelensky had to listen to Trump just fucking blather about shit he doesn't know, which, as we all understand, is the only way Trump speaks. Trump ends the phone call by shitting on Zelensky's election win by making sure the Ukrainian president knows his win wasn't as awesome as Trump's. Our goddamn president says, "I’m not sure it was so much of an upset but congratulations." Why the fuck say that? Who does that except the biggest asshole in the world? Yes, it's not really a transcript, but this is what the White House released, so it's the only thing we have to go on. But even this reveals criminality and pettiness and intimidation, conduct and actions so worthy of impeachment that it might as well be written on dildos and sent to all Republicans with the message, "Go fuck yourselves with this." And that's without the whistleblower's report, which looks like is gonna fuck shit up even worse.

[formerlyrunephoenix6769]

Goal!

Summary.

Domestic Widowtracer. Lena gets a delightful surprise when Amelie watches the World Cup.

--x--

Lena sat crossed legged on the sofa, cosy in her pj bottom’s and England jersey as she slurped on her noodles, watching in fascination as Amelie yelled in French at the TV. Lena thinks Amelie is swearing now, having been on the receiving end of similar sounding words many times. Who knew that the refined French woman would become so unravelled over 22 grown ass men chasing a ball?

One of the players dived to the ground putting on a performance that an academy award winning actress would be proud of!

“Get up!” Amelie screamed, as she ran her hands through her hair, causing her usually pristine pony tail to become slightly askew. For a brief moment, Lena was convinced she could see a flush come to her partner’s cyan skin.

So this is what got the former sniper’s dander up?

One of the opposing team’s players tripped up a French striker in a way that even the former Overwatch operative was willing to agree was a wanker move. Widow jumped off the sofa screaming,

“Come on Ref!!!! Are you blind???”

Lena stopped mid chew, noodles dangling out of her mouth, chop sticks paused in mid air as Widow turned, a slightly terrifying look on her face, demanding,

“Lena, did you see that?”

Lena nodded wide eyed, not willing to admit that she had given up on following the match a good while ago having found something else far more entertaining.

“Gaaaa! Sacre bleu.”

Throwing her hands up in frustration and her pony tail bobbing, Amelie stalked from the sitting room disappearing into the depths of the apartment.

Lena returned to stirring her noodles with her chop sticks, brown eyes glued to the tv screen as the ball continued being passed back and forth. Minutes passed before suddenly a French striker, taking advantage of a Croatian mistake, broke through the opposing defence to sweetly chip the ball into the top left corner of the net. The roar of celebration in the stadium filled the sitting room.

Suspicious of Widow’s sudden quiet, Lena called out,

“Babe?”

Curiosity getting the better of her she placed her noodle bowl on the coffee table before padding barefoot through the apartment. “Babe?” she called out a little louder noticing their bedroom door slightly ajar, soft light spilling into the hallway. Peering through the door the former pilot stated,

“Babe, you just missed a goal.”

Widow was hunched over, seemingly in a world of her own, typing furiously on a light screen the back light casting her features in an eerie glow.

“Luv,” Lena asked with piqued curiosity, “Whatcha doing?”

She entered the room peering over Widow’s shoulder quickly reading the screen before in one swift move she slammed off the lightpad, exclaiming, “You can’t assassinate the referee!”

Widow’s eyes narrowed as she huffed,

“I can’t see why not! He is an idiote!”

Lena grabbed the lightpad dock holding it behind her back,

“Nope! You can’t just off some geezer willy nilly cause you don’t like their call.” Attempting to mock scald her, Lena added, “Besides I thought we said no more killing?”

Amelie pouted, “Not even a little bit?”

Lena grinned, it was a rare sight to see French woman pouting as it was usually the English girl’s tactic. God, is this what Amelie had to deal with every time the pilot gave her the puppy dog eyes when wanting to get her own way?

Widow suddenly towered over her attempting to reach round for the lightpad dock as she coaxed,

“Just let me find out where his lives.”

Lena backed up slowly, her shortness putting her at a slight disadvantage as Widow advanced, devilment in her yellow eyes grinning that wolfish grin that made Lena weak at the knees. She retreated untill her back came dead against the wall as Widow continued to stalk towards her. Still attempting to keep the last vestiges of her dignity, the British woman defiantly raised her head as Amelie leaned over her, pressing closer and cutting off any chances of escape.

Lena tried not to gulp and remained resolute as Widow’s other hand attempted to reach behind the smaller woman and craftily sneak the lighpad dock from her grasp. Plump, moist lips hovered dangerously close to Lena’s ear,

“Will you not let me play cherie?”

The hot air ghosting her earlobe, that raspy voice, caused Lena’s skin to goose bump and prickle with static. Lena squeezed her eyes shut mutely shaking her head.

“Not even a little bit?” Came the seductive growl.

Lena caught her own bottom lip between her teeth as she slightly turned her head only to find Widow’s blown yellow eyes watching her in predatory amusement. Lena’s own raked down over Amelie’s fine features finally alighting on those enticing full lips.

She could have some resolve, god damnit!

It was as if Widow could sense her weakening as she pressed her body further into the smaller woman.

“Come now my pet, don’t be foolish.”

Lena nuzzled Amelie with her nose, those alluring lips just millimetres from her own. If she didn’t do something now she was a goner. Quickly she caught Widow’s lips in a kiss, feeling how the french woman grinned into it. Just as she felt Amelie beginning to relax Lena pulled away, impishly bopping her on the nose with her fingertip,

“Nope pop!”

In the split second as Widow’s features gave way to baffled disbelief and confusion, Lena wriggled out of her position before speeding through the apartment waving the lightpad dock over her head, only to have Widowmaker hot on her tail tackling her into the sofa with an Oof, causing Lena to collapse into giggles as Amelie poked her in the ribs.

“No fair!” Lena squealed in delight.

“All is fair in love and war my cherie!” Amelie triumphantly declared, as straddling her, she wrestled the lightscreen dock from the Londoner’s grasp.

Two could play that game, Lena thought as she gripped the front of Amelie’s jersey pulling her in for a searing kiss, the lightscreen long forgotten as hands dipped below the hem of grey yoga pants only to grasp firm ass cheeks. Amelie’s eyebrows shot up and her eyes narrowed playfully, smirking down at the younger woman.

“Ah, this is how it is going to be is it?”

“All is fair in love and war!” The mussy haired pilot cheekily repeated.

Amelie laughed, it was light and breezy, a sound Lena would never stop trying to illicit.

“You win!”

“You surrender?”

“Oui!”

Lena couldnt help herself,

“Just like the French,eh? Always giving up!”

Amelie wrinkled her nose in a mock scowl,

“Right, you’re in for it!” She announced, as once again she began tickling her tormentor with earnest.

Lena let out a delighted shriek, laughing and wriggling beneath her captor before exchanging soft fluttery kisses that quickly devolved into to long and languid ones. Somewhere the Croatian crowd booed in dismay and Lena didn’t notice as one slender hand reached out activating the lightscreen and began quickly tapping away. She certainly didnt notice as later, slick with sweat, her own screams and curses coming quicker and louder, loud enough to drown out the forgotten match, a digtialised sugar skull appeared followed by an address somewhere in Moscow.

Collapsing bonlessly against the sofa, Lena snuggled closer to Amelie, sleepy eyes half lidded, she smiled that lazy smile as a French striker scored the winning goal and Amelie continued to card her fingers through her messy hair, caressing her scalp in the way that Lena liked.

“Lookit that luv, your lot won!”

Lena’s smile widened as Amelie drew her closer, lips ghosting her forehead.

“Oui, I most certainly did

(all ow fanfiction tagged under formerlyrunephoenix6769 ow fanfiction,  feel free to comment/ like/ share.. written for @call-signtracer )

[blurrypetals]

Noir by Christopher Moore - blurrypetals review

originally posted apr. 17, 2018 - ★★★☆☆

I'm definitely going to chew on the rating for a little bit, but for the most part, this definitely is going to sit a bit lower on the Christopher Moore ranking for me, closer to Sacre Bleu and Island of the Sequined Love Nun, not down with Coyote Blue, but certainly not up with the giants that are A Dirty Job, Secondhand Souls, Bloodsucking Fiends, You Suck, and Bite Me. I've come to realize I prefer The Author Guy at his most relaxed. I remember reading an interview with him back in 2008, when I was first falling in love with his writing (don't mind me I'm just having a small existential crisis that it's been an actual decade since I first discovered him via You Suck oh my god that's scary) that he likes to try to go back and forth between one bigger, heavily researched novel then one shorter, more silly novel. The only time he's really broken this pattern was when he wrote Sacre Bleu and The Serpent of Venice back to back, both of them being longer, more heavily researched books. I think it's rad that Chris reaches for these grander scopes and I always tries to learn something new from the extensive research he does. The writer in me greatly admires how dedicated he is to getting those sorts of things right and I aspire to be even just a fraction as dedicated to my writing and its world building as he is. However, talk to the reader in me and, at the end of the day, I prefer Chris in the off season. World building and setting are incredibly important, but when you get down to it, I'm going to remember how effortlessly hilarious and well written the dialogue in You Suck was more than I'm going to remember how accurate Paris is described in Sacre Bleu, and I'm always going to feel more attached to the plot of the book than I am going to be to the time and place it takes place in. One thing this book has a leg up on is that it's Christopher Moore writing about San Francisco. If there's one thing that's unquestionable, it's Chris's undying love, respect, and adoration for the city of San Francisco. One of my favorite parts of this book was his afterword, where he talked about some of the inspiration for the people and places there, because it's clearly a place he so wholly adores and he so effortlessly pulls me into seeing that rose-tinted version of the city that he always sees and writes so well about. But, the places I find cracks in start to crumble away when I go even one layer deeper. Another thing I love about Chris is his lead protagonists; Tommy and Jody in the vampire books, Charlie Asher the father of Death Herself, and Biff, Christ's childhood pal are all such great and fun and unique characters and I will remember them for at least another decade to come, but when it comes to Sammy and The Cheese (whom I believe was partially created and named just so Chris could giggle at the idea of a hard-boiled narrator gruffly saying her nickname over and over again) are going to be joining Lucien (whose name I actually had to Google) Blue, and Samson in the obscure part of the memory bank pretty soon. There just wasn't a lot to this other than the fantastic world building. I chuckled a couple of times, but I was nowhere near in the side-splitting stitches his better books easily put me in, but the plot was weak and had some major pacing issues. I think the only line I'll be taking along with me is, "I like my coffee how I like my women...blonde and sweet." and that's mostly because it reminded me of the similar line in Secondhand Souls: "I like my men how I like my tea...weak and green." Oh well. Better luck next time, I guess! Edit, 4/25/18: I decided to write a review for Audible. Here it is: "Needs More "Moore" To It" Is there anything you would change about this book? I've read almost all of Christopher Moore's bibliography and, a lot of the time, he writes really funny, bombastic, and even occasionally touching books. He's one of my favorite authors, so I was incredibly excited when I heard he was writing a send-up of the noir genre and it was set in the city he so clearly adores through and through, San Francisco. However, I was incredibly disappointed that this book had the bombastic stuff but was lacking in the funny and the heartstring tugging. I keep seeing ads for this that read, "Moore is at his best here!" and "You'll be laughing all the way!" and I just internally cringe and glance at of The Author Guy's actual best, like A Dirty Job and its sequel, Secondhand Souls, or Bloodsucking Fiends and its sequels, or Lamb, and go, "Really? Do people REALLY think this is Moore at his best? Did you REALLY laugh all the way?" It isn't Moore at his best and the most laughter he got out of me were a couple of chuckles that were either direct reference to another book of his--like the "Perfect f---ing French" part--or reminded me of another book of his--like the line, "I like my coffee how I like my women...blonde and sweet" reminded me of the line from Secondhand Souls, "I like my tea how I like my men...weak and green"--so I was definitely not laughing all the way. I was just sighing dejectedly and I was doing it a LOT. Would you be willing to try another book from Christopher Moore? Why or why not? There will never be a Christopher Moore book I won't read. What about Johnny Heller’s performance did you like? He did a good job capturing the atmosphere, making me feel like I was actually watching an old '40's noir film. He affected a really weird intonation when he read for a lot of the women, though, and that was kind of annoying, which is the reason why I gave the performance a 4 instead of a 5. Do you think Noir needs a follow-up book? Why or why not? No, definitely not, please don't do that, Chris. Any additional comments? I want to expect better from Christopher Moore and I will continue to expect the best from him, but this one was a real downer. Better luck next time, man.