It was a glorious morning. Lovely day. Lovely day. Lovely day. The blue and greenness of sweet, peaceful Colorado was without limits, and the sun, which should have been a pestilence to Charles’ tequila-stained brain, shined exultantly on a new man.


In the words of Charles Dawson, our protagonist:

“For all my so-called accomplishments, I’ve always felt so alone, like I’m going through this life with no one. And for being such a supposedly beautiful, amazing man, I can’t keep a girlfriend for more than a blink of an eye. I got so desperate that I started this Facebook scheme where I got a model-quality photograph taken to post as my profile picture, with the sole purpose of attracting women. And the sad part is, my scheme worked.”


From the mouth of Eleanor Brady, Charles’ boss and personality foil:

“Part of being a leader of people, Dawson, is remembering that we are all, in fact, people. Sure, there’s a professional side to our lives where we teach the kids how to speak Spanish and win wrestling matches. If that were it, you’d be thriving, and you wouldn’t need me around. But, more importantly, there’s the human side in each of us where we like to laugh and love, drink and fornicate. I’ve been saying it all year, Dawson—this is where you come up short, you big, beautiful bore.”


As stated by Jack Apple, Charles’ struggling student:

“I’m sorry I wasn’t getting it, Señor Dawson. It just gets confusing when you speak to me in Spanish. I know I’m supposed to understand, but I just panic, and my mind freezes up. I’ll try to do better tomorrow.” 

The philosophy of Lemus Vanderdoes, Charles’ best friend, landlord, and roommate:

“Fuck love. I’ll hit you with a little knowledge on love that’ll make that hollow space you’re feeling snap shut, real fast. There was a time when I thought I wanted love, too. I did what every little slap-dick around this Podunk town does: I graduated from C.H.S. and married the first girl who let me get a little stank on my hang-low. I thought I had something that nobody in the world had ever experienced. I was in love.”


The drunken musings of Morgan Apple, Charles’ long-lost hero and biggest asshole west of the Mississippi River:

“Charles, here’s the thing. You’ve been out there, you’ve probably seen it more than a lot of the people around here, but we’re living in a world where some things are changing, and I don’t think it’s necessarily for the better.”


The hiss of Abbey Apple, the girl who could melt Charles’ heart with a glance:

“I don’t give a fuck about a bunch of white guys who died 50 years ago, Babe! Normal people listen to Rihanna or Drake or Selena Gomez—not The fucking Beatles!”

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