Hard-boiled detectives, mysterious dames and ruthless gangsters were central to the writing of Mickey Spillane. Last night I was in a weird mood and I created a bunch of Tweets of lines he never wrote (including a few more I wrote today):
- She had long legs, smoldering lips and a music box which played the most delightful Brahms melody.
- I didn't know whether to smack her or take her antiquing, try to find some cute cow salt and pepper shakers.
- What a dame. If she could play the banjo, I swear I'd positively swoon.
- As she walked into the room, my first thought was that her shoes didn't go with her dress. Her purse, maybe
- "You think you're tough, wise guy? Try getting through the white sale at Montgomery-Ward."
- I punched him in the face. He wiped the blood off his lip. "Aren't you a naughty rapscallion?" he gleamed.
- "Sorry, baby, it's just that this cholesterol medication's leaving me a little bloated."
- It was 10 a.m. I was all out of scotch, so I settled for a Mountain Dew Super Nova. It was totally extreme.
- I grabbed her, pulled her close to me. Her breath smelled like ass."
- I needed to get out of sight, lay low. I ducked into a theater. I swear, I could watch "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs" a hundred times.
- "What are you doing, Hammer?" "Knitting myself a gun cozy."
- She wasn't your average dame. She was the type that made me want to diversify my investments , set up a high-yield IRA. You know, important things.
- She had a miniature poodle, with just the cutest button nose. I could just eat that puppy up with a spoon.
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