Paraphrasology

-John Cheever

The sun was hot. Dinosaur Trader sat by the green water, one hand in it, one around a glass of gin. He was a slender man-he seemed to have the especial slenderness of youth-and while he was far from young he had slid down his banister that morning and given the bronze backside of Aphrodite on the hall table a smack, as he jogged toward the smell of coffee in his dining room. He might have been compared to a summer's day, particularly the last hours of one, and while he lacked a tennis racket or a sail bag the impression was definitely one of youth, sport, and clement weather. He had been swimming and now he was breathing deeply, stertorously as if he could gulp into his lungs the components of that moment, the heat of the sun, the intenseness of his pleasure.

Paraphrasology

-Don Delillo

He drove along turnpikes and skyways, seeing Manhattan come and go in a valium sunset, smoky and golden. The car wobbled in the sound booms of highballing trucks, drivers perched in tall cabs with food, drink, dope and pornography, and the rigs seemed to draw the little car down the pike in their sheering wind. He drove past enormous tank farms, squat white cylinders arrayed across the swampland, and he saw white dome tanks in smaller groupings and long lines of tank cars rolling down the tracks. He went past power pylons with their spindly arms akimbo. He drove into the spewing smoke of acres of burning truck tires and the planes descended and the transit cranes stood in rows at the marine terminal and he saw billboards for Hertz and Avis and Chevy Blazer, for Marlboro, Continental and Goodyear, and he realized that all the things around him, the planes taking off and landing, the streaking cars, the tires on the cars, the cigarettes that the drivers of the cars were dousing in their ashtrays--all these were on the billboards around him, systematically linked in some self-referring relationship that had a kind of neurotic tightness, an inescapability, as if the billboards were generating reality, and of course he thought of Dinosaur Trader.

Ron Burgandy Burrito Baxter Scene

I have an unnatural obsession with the scene described below... I finally found a low quality version of it posted on Youtube, so I made it into a paraphrasology post that you all can enjoy!

Man driving car over a bridge while eating burrito. His dog, "Baxter" is in the passenger seat.

"This burrito is delicious but it is filling!"

He throws the burrito out the window, slamming a motorcycle guy who is driving alongside his car, in the face. The motorcycle guy wipes out.

"Anthony and Cleopatra!"

The motorcycle guy recovers from his fall and approaches the car. Below is the ensuing conversation.

Motorcycle Guy: "What the hell, bro?"

Ron Burgandy: "Hello neighbor..."

MG: "Did you just... throw a burrito out your window?"

RB: "I believe I did..."

MG: "What are you high or something??? Did you see what happened?"

RB: "I did see! That was a terrific little spill... that's quite a raspberry."

MG: "That's my chopper you just thrashed, broseph!"

RB: "Easy compadre... I'm your friend out here, all right?"

MG: "I want you to fix my chopper before I stomp your goofy ass!"

RB: "If you want to throw down fisticuffs, fine. I've got Jack Johnson and Tom O'Leary waiting for you... right here!"

MG: "You destroyed the only thing I love. All right? There it is... what do you love?"

RB: "Mmmm.... I love poetry, Dinosaur Trader's blog, a glass of scotch... And of course, my friend Baxter here.

MG: "Well guess what? Now this is happening!"

The motorcycle guy picks up "Baxter" the dog, and walks him over to the edge of the bridge.

RB: "Excuse me... excuse me... what are you doing?"

He punts the dog off the bridge, and into the water.

MG: "That's how I roll."

RB: "Baxter..... NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!"

For poor quality reference material, click below.

Paraphrasology

"Tomorrow night they would be outside the Escorial in the dark along the road; the long lines of trucks loading the infantry in the darkness; the men, heavy loaded, climbing up into the trucks; the tanks being run up the skids onto the long-bodied tank trucks; pulling the Division out to move them in the night for the attack on the pass. Dinosaur Trader would not think about that. That was not his business. That was Golz's business. He had only one thing to do and that was what he should think about and he must think it out clearly and take everything as it came along, and not worry. To worry was as bad as to be afraid. It simply made things more difficult."

Paraphrasology

"On Sunday morning while church bells rang in the villages alongshore, the world and its mistress returned to Dinosaur Trader's blog and twinkled hilariously on his lawn."