Book: Good signs. Page 4

- Ay!? Aziraphale! For Bo... For the... for anyone! Aziraphale!

Time he was not.
To go him nowhere.
And he went somewhere.

Plan a worked. Plan B - no. Everything depended on Plan C, which was only one drawback: Crawley only reached the letter B.

By the way, demons and Crowley were the first who rushed to challenge this - most of them are not the personification of evil. In the great cosmic game they feel about the same as the tax collectors - not the most popular profession, but a necessary one for the system as a whole. If anything, some of the angels, too, were not models of perfection: Crowley met such that, when it came about to impress the apostate power of God's anger, striking considerably harder than it was necessary. But in General, everyone had his job and did everything that is necessary.
On the other hand, there were those, like Hastur and Ligur, which was a pleasure to do bad things that they can be easily mistaken for the people.

The apartment Crowley had a bedroom, kitchen, office and toilet: everywhere and always an absolute clean and tidy.
Crowley tried what it's like to wait for the end of the world in each of these rooms, and everywhere was uncomfortable.

The first time he heard that talking to plants in the early seventies by the Fourth channel Bi-Bi-si, and decided that this is a great idea. Although, perhaps, could hardly be called that, did Crowley conversation.
In fact, he instilled in them the fear of the wrath of God.
Rather, fear the wrath of Crowley.

He had to tell Crowley.
No, not that. He wanted to tell Crowley. And had to tell Heaven. In the end, he's an angel. He had to do the right thing. It is a function. See the evil Bay without a miss. Crowley, of course, put a hand here, that's for sure. We had to immediately put the Heavens in popularity.
But he knew it for thousands of years. They got along very well. They almost understood each other. Sometimes he suspected that they have more in common than each of them with their, respectively, superiors.

And then there are cats, thought Bobby. He caught the neighbor's ginger cat, and set out to convert him to a trembling jelly using ordinary glowing eyes and a deep guttural roar that always impeccably acted on his doomed opponents. This time he got only a well-aimed blow in the face, from which tears streamed from his eyes. Cat decided Bobby, much worse than lost souls.

Most of those who saw Aziraphale the first time, there was about him a certain impression: first, that he is an Englishman; secondly, he is very smart; and third, that he is so blue that any tropical island would have hired it to light the sky in the height of tourist season.

Bobby trotted around, tail between his legs, and whined.
It's not fair, he thought. I just got used to the rats. Only almost done with this stinking shepherd across the street. And now He's going to end this, and again I run around with burning eyes for the lost souls? What's the point? They don't run away, and taste in them whatsoever...

There were people who called themselves Satanists, from which Crowley was just making. And it's not what they did, and that they blamed the Hell. Cost them to get in the head of another sickening idea, which no demon would have conceived in a thousand years, some dark and crazy stuff, able to appear only in the full human brain, and scream "the Devil made me do it!" - as here, a jury's sympathy was on their side. The Devil hardly anyone ever made. There was no need. That is what some could not grasp. Hell - not a morass of evil, just like Paradise, according to Crowley - not the waterfall of goodness: it's just the names of the players in the great cosmic chess game. But real, genuine, unique and good - and still bloody, horrible, catastrophic evil only found in the depths of the human consciousness.

We all have the same idea, which they could not clearly Express even under normal circumstances. In General terms, it was to ensure that once there were real cowboys and gangsters, and it was great. And there will always be kabutoya cowboys and gangsters, and that's great, too. But the real kabutoya cowboys and gangsters, living and non-living can be folded back in the box, when tired - it is somehow not cool. The whole point of the gangsters, cowboys, aliens and pirates that can cease to be them and go home.

Theoretically, the car is amazingly fast allow you to move from place to place. Traffic jams, on the other hand, present you a tremendous opportunity to stand in one place...