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Harv Griffin
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Harv Griffin

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Harv Griffin

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Harv Griffin

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♀: “ⒽⒺⓎ, ⒼⒺⒺⓀ ⒷⓄⓎ! ⓌⒶⓃⓃⒶ ⓌⒶⓉⒸⒽ ⓂⒺ ⓉⒶⓀⒺ Ⓐ ⒻⓄⓁⓁⒾⒸⓊⓁⒶⓇ ⓅⓇⓄⓉⒺⒾⓃ ⒶⒷⓁⒶⓉⒾⓄⓃ ⓅⓁⒶⓃⒺ ⓉⓄ ⓂⓎ ⒸⓇⓊⓇⒶⓁⓈ?”

♂: “ⓎⒺⓈ, ⓅⓁⒺⒶⓈⒺ!”
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+Harv Griffin ROFTL.
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       Accounts of what happened next differ.
       ALEX was relieving himself beside the pick up, facing away from the strawberry field when his ears started ringing and he noticed a glow coming from behind him.  He turned around, felt heat against his body, and saw a ball of white light swallow Jack and silently speed off into infinity.  Then Alex put his penis back into his pants.
       CAROL saw a bright light that quickly expanded to become a huge sphere, very close to where Jack was standing.  There seemed to be a man inside the sphere.  It seemed as though the man and Jack clasped arms together.  Then Jack stepped into the sphere, and the man got out of the sphere.  There was a bang that shook the pick up truck, she blinked, and all that remained was an empty strawberry field.
       JACK approached the area of the field that gave off the X Ray radiation, focused the Optimin device on it and got very close, watching the meter.  He noted the level—quite low but definite—and he was about to turn away, when he heard a sucking sound coming from in front of him, as if air were being sucked in through a tube.  Jack looked at the meter again, but the amount of X Ray radiation had dropped to zero.  The air all around him seemed to be sparkling with tiny little pin pricks of diamond lights.  The suction became a roar, as a sphere rapidly grew from point size to three meters in diameter.  The sphere was translucent at first, and then became transparent.  Jack stared, not believing it, but he was inside the sphere, another Jack Kronos, dressed almost the same, with a mustache, the hair on his head a little bit longer!       
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Harv Griffin

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The more I try to tell you what you want to hear, the less I even know what I really want to hear.
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       Ginger is dressed like a type-C Ingmar Bergman high-society lesbian: she is wearing not a skirt, but black draperies that a Paris designer has christened "Skirt."  Don't get me wrong, Ginger looks good in draperies, especially the way the slit goes up the side of her drapes, revealing the top of her right black nylon stocking, and also revealing that her panties must be safely stashed at home in a drawer because they are not on her emulous derriere.  Ginger has green feathers on the tops of her silver pumps, she has an orgy of red hair curling back from her exotic face and over her white jacket that is a $900 dollar copy of a $3,500 dollar Paris original.  Ginger's midriff is bare.  Madonna would marry Warren Beatty to own the junk jewelry Ginger has draped around her neck.
       Madonna would let Warren do her without a condom if Ginger would teach her how to lean against red pillars like that.
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In his circles
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Harv Griffin

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       Dressing rooms are for wimps. Blow in; Chill them; Skate out to my sled: That's my scene. Easier to freeze the words together than to actually do it.
       You've seen pictures of my face. God's gift to gigglers, shaded from the sun by a Stetson. Fiercely masculine. Six foot two, eyes of blue. Then I smile, and Jack Nicholson knocks over a whole Lakers' bleacher with envy. (That's the way the Cool McCool Air Conditioning Club describes me, so it must be true, right? Right?)
       Anyway, I do get a few groupies who can't find a rockstar or a serious actor to pour their love into. All the little lost groupies were there that night. Robbie's boys were trying to drive a wedge through the violently available hellcats and get me the hell out of there. And two camera crews were muscling their way right along with us, their lights blinding everybody.
       I was burnt toast on the ice floe, after that show.
       Somehow the messenger faked out the Cool Patrol and stopped me on our way out of the Metropolitan Opera House.
       The guy thrust the single, long-stemmed red rose right in front of my face. "Mr. McCool!" he shouted. "Roses are all right; but violets are for Honey; Marlene's Sunday night; seven is the time, so don't get funny."
       One of Robbie's boys hit him with a running tackle, breaking the stem of the rose, and mashing and ripping off the petals, as the two of them crashed down onto the walkway. What's he gonna do? Shoot me with a flower? It took about half a minute to get the situation correctly sorted out.
       By the time the messenger actually handed me the rose, it was just a busted stem with thorns, and the crowd was walking all over the little red petals.
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Harv Griffin

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An appeal for unreserved critical reappraisal of the Past? Hell, I can’t even re-remember Last Week without Today’s Mood coloring everything
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People
In his circles
268 people
Have him in circles
449 people
jonny kzj (jonnykzj)'s profile photo
Diane Walker's profile photo
TheLonewolfe69's profile photo
Mike O'Brien's profile photo
samuel rich's profile photo
Jeremiah Jacques's profile photo
Christian Werner's profile photo
victor nasty's profile photo
Joshua Oguntan's profile photo
Work
Occupation
I pay the bills with Plastic Extrusion. I save my soul by writing novels that nobody wants to read.
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Introduction
Sorry, you have found the incorrect HARV.  I might be the HARVEY you are looking for, however.
Bragging rights
One of my tweets got more than 4000 ReTweets. Check Favstar for confirmation.
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Male