Justin Bog Quotes & Sayings

I got to play a brain-dead comatose rapist who wakes up every full moon to cause hell in the small cult film: Coma Man From Manhattan Beach. — Justin Bog

I felt unclean after having only one sponge bath since the delivery. — Justin Bog

Now, a month later, I sit, foggy, a similar state of mind, in a different seafood restaurant with a locals-know-every-secret bar, two happy hour martinis downed, fidgeting with my napkin below the lip of the table, and I barely hear Wendy ask me another question. She brought a bag of them tonight. — Justin Bog

It was raining heavily outside my window, April showers, keeping the current Michigan spring gloom at bay. — Justin Bog

I don't correct her to let her know her backdoor wisdom yanks me deep into another country, where water runs uphill. — Justin Bog

With more time spent in their mother's presence, Maggie kept topics of conversation to small stuff, seldom ever wanted to dig below the surface, learned from her mother: just be polite, which makes Callie's own facile mental questioning and creative drive, paired with her physical rigidity, all the more oppositional, and, how they dance around serious subjects, laughable. — Justin Bog

The show's supposed to be a cross between Melrose Place and Breaking Bad (with a little Dukes of Hazzard thrown in for the hell of it), but done straight (the PR people actually say that). — Justin Bog

When Maddy writes, the feeling of failure haunts her, and the feeling of success does the same. She's living an intellectual dichotomy so intangible it will drive her crazy if she gives in. — Justin Bog

The woman with the cat complex is named Mrs. Alice Plesher, but she doesn't reveal her first name to him and Sai only finds out by accident, later. Mrs. Plesher calls the paper and is put through to Sai. He has no idea why although he could guess the new guy gets all of the reporter-on-the-beat drudgery assignments until proven worthy. Alice speaks haltingly as if hardened by age and her voice reveals a rasp. Sai pictures her in a long house dress from the fifties, wide pink and white stripes fading with age
a smock of beige over the dress, a multitude of cats clinging to the fabric like stick-ons. — Justin Bog