So, this was probably a difficult profile to write, given that Eileen Fisher, tunic maker of note, comes off as a strange, cold, macrobiotic robot in a kimono.

We propose an approach to extracting information from text based on the hypothesis that text sometimes describes the world.

A significant part of Lucas’s start involved an apparently random list of a large number of names, most of which never made it into the movies: Emperor Ford Xerxes the Third; Xenos; Han Solo (“leader of the Hubble people”); Thorpe; Roland; Lars; Kane; Luke Skywalker (“Prince of Bebers”).

“Heavens!” I cried, much moved, “what are we about to perform in these underground tunnels?”

“Crimes,” said Delbène.

You don’t have to kill people. You’re a product of the 1980s. You don’t go around killing people. It’s not nice.

Even monstrous eel-men had to pass the time somehow, she guessed.

One girl curls up into a ball, but emerges understanding how the nature of reality is holographic.

The yacht rock got darker, deeper, filthier.

It wasn’t a post of Goffe’s; the carefully crafted aesthetic stylings of some sunburnt teen had probably seen the vine and curated it because of its chillwave vibes. 

A great network of intestines bundled in its abdominal region, ending with a magnificent colon.