“Out, beefy. The women folk have work to do." Bish laughed and pointed to himself. "I'm beefy, I suppose." "Well, no one else in this room has his arms stuffed into his sleeves like sausage casings, now do they?”

“All my works have vessels of some sort. Containers. Sometimes it's in the negative space, sometimes it's more obvious ...He's very loyal. He puts everything he has into one thing. one interest, one hobby, one friend, one love. I'm his love and it scares the shit out of me ... He's poured all his love into me. I'm his vessel. But suppose I crack? Suppose I break? Suppose I die? What would he do?”

“She was gauging him, trying to work out what cards he had up his sleeve. For now he might be able to keep her off balance by smiling meaningfully and dropping hints, delaying the moment in which she realized that she held all the cards, and that his well-brushed sleeves held nothing but his arms.”

“He put his arms around her. “Well, in my defense, then, whatever I did seemed to work, didn't it?”She sighed. “I suppose.”“You suppose?”“What do you want? A medal?”“For starters. A trophy would be nice, too.”She smiled. “What do you think you're holding right now?”

“For an absurd moment, I wondered if Ammit devoured the hearts of wicked cows, and if he liked the beefy taste.- Carter Kane”

“Her angel's pants were molded to a nice, beefy ass”