“To Hell with the cherub!” roared Comandante Marescotti.”
“This is tough but CHERUB's are tougher”
“He looked like those paintings of baby angels - what do you call them, hubbubs? No cherubs. That's it. He looked like a cherub who'd turned middle-aged in a trailer park.”
“Right at the flamingo orgy! Left at the multiethnic roof Santas! Straight past the pissing cherubs!”
“How could he maintain the apology in his eyes without getting carried away by her cherubic innocence?”
“It happened like this, if it happened at all. I would rather go up to heaven by myself than be pushed by cherubs.”