Black Beauty: Anna Sewell
Squire Gordon looked at my sleek, handsome coat and said to his wife, "I think we should call him Cape Coloured Beauty." His wife frowned. "He's definitely darker than that," she said. "How about Black Beauty instead?"
How I revelled in Black Pride. "No one ever dreamed of calling me Ginger Beauty," moaned my stable companion Ginger.
For a couple of years I galloped to the hunt with the upper classes but then – tragedy. I was sold to Earlshall where Reuben Smith, a racist stable hand, mistreated me horribly. My knees were finished so I was made to pull a London cab. It was terrible work and someone really should have called the RSPCA as my eyes started playing up because of the darkness. Still it could have been worse. One day I came across an emaciated Ginger in the street. "Is it because I is ginger?" he gasped before dying in front of me.
I got sold again and times was very hard during the apartheid regime. But eventually things turned out all right and I now hang out in a field.
Candide: Voltaire
"Everything is for the best in the best of all possible worlds," said the court philosopher, Pangloss. "I do hope so," replied Candide, "because I've just been banished for kissing his Lordship's daughter, Cunegonde."
Candide wandered aimlessly for a while before being conscripted into the Bulgar army where he was flogged mercilessly for being complicit in political satire. Never mind, he thought, I can always hook up with a deformed beggar in Holland.
"I'm not a deformed beggar," said Pangloss. "I'm Pangloss. I've just got tertiary syphilis. But it could be worse, I could have been killed by the Bulgars like Cunegonde."
"I wasn't killed actually," Cunegonde chipped in when Candide arrived in Lisbon. "I was just raped a bit and now I'm a sex slave of the Inquisition."
"That's good news," Candide replied. "How about we go off to El Dorado in search of countless other disasters the Americans will hate."
"OK," she said, "Just don't blame me if I've turned hideously ugly by the end of the book."
"No worries. By then I'll be more interested in gardening than shagging".
Lady Chatterley's Lover: DH Lawrence
Connie was aware of a growing restlessness within herself as she looked at the paralysed, withered body of her husband, Sir Clifford. "Damn the war," she thought, "Damn his impotence." How she longed for the earthiness of a physical connection!
"I don't suppose an affair is out the question," asked the languorously effete Michaelis. "Why not?" she replied, before yawning as he prematurely ejaculated for a seventh time.
"What ye need Ma'am," said Mellors the gamekeeper, "is the swarthy ever-ready cock of a horny-handed son of the soil. A man who will call your cunt a cunt and a fuck a fuck and will pleasure ye till ye can take no more."
"Oh Mellors, I love you," Connie gasped. "Fuck me till I fart."
They fucked and shitted and pissed whole-heartedly till one day Connie noticed her belly had swollen with the seed of Mellors loins. "Tis truly disgraceful for me to have an affair with a member of the lower orders," she said. "I must hie me to Venice to conceal my pregnancy."
Yet the purity of her sexuality could not be denied as she surrendered her arse to Mellors' pulsating manhood. "I can no longer pretend to my husband that I'm fucking an aristo on the side," she declared. "He can have perverted unsatisfactory sex with his nurse, while we strive upwards toward the higher consciousness of a continuous Nottinghamshire orgasm. Who knows if we shall reach it?"
"Fucked if I know," said Mellors, "but I guess we'd better do a lot more fucking to find out."
Harry Potter and the...... : JK Rowling
Professor Dumbledore looked deep into the pensieve before returning his gaze to the three eleven-year olds assembled before him. He stroked his long gray beard while deliberating how best to let them know that Hogwarts' survival lay in their hands.
"For you, Ron and Hermione, the road is straight," he said eventually. "Just stick close to Harry for the next seven years and you shall be rich beyond your wildest dreams. Fame and stardom awaits you in Hollywood and beyond and you shall be dubbed the Posh and Scholesy of the Magic kingdom.
"But the road ahead is much rougher for you, Harry. You must take up broomsticks and pit your wand against the dark arts of the Evil Lord Voledemort, He Who Cannot Be Named. There will be long nights and fierce battles ahead, but should you remain steadfast your neeky spex will become an object of lust for schoolgirls everywhere."
Harry could feel the scar on his forehead burning as he surveyed the wreckage of the past 3,500 pages. Sirius lay dead, Hedwig lay dead and Dumbledore lay dead. And now Voldemort lay dead. He alone was the ruler of Magic Land. "Did they really think I was going to stop there?" he cackled manically. "Now to take on the Muggles and that Pussy Jesus."
Ulysses: James Joyce
Stately plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, as Stephen Daedalus got up on the morning of June 16th, 1904 to embark walk round Dublin as he considered his important role as Telemachus in Homeric allegory.
Leopold Bloom also woke up and went to the lavatory where he defecated noisily and at great length for several pages before he too embarked on a trans-Dublinic promenade, leaving his estranged wife, Molly, at home to wait for her lover. "She is Penelope to my Odysseus," he said wittily to no one in particular
For many a long page the two wandering symbols failed to meet one another, even when in the same building. But at last, to the sound of crashing trumpets, their psyches converged.
Leopold: It seems we meet at last.
Stephen: Why are you talking as if in a play?
Leopold: Because nothing else is happening.
Stephen: How unashamedly modernist.
Leopold: Indeed. Shall we celebrate by talking in long and complicated sentences parodying Anglo-Saxon verse before going to a brothel and having visions.
Molly lay at home thinking that her husband must have had an orgasm before he left and that he could probably be better in bed than her lover Blazes Boylan if only he weren't such a pervert but that Blazes is all man all virile and then of course there is that nice boy Stephen Daedalus he looks quite clean the sort of man whose penis she would quite like to suck so much better than having her bottom licked by Leopold but then she did have a nice orgasm with Blazes at about the time that Leopold's watch stopped and then she wonders if she knocks this all out in a long unreadable stream of consciousness with no discernible punctuation she'll be able to sneak the dirty bits past the US censors as they'll probably have found something better to do by now. No.
Of Mice and Men: John Steinbeck
"Sure is a lonely place," said George, who was a small man, as they were arriving to become exploited workers on a ranch.
"But we gonna get us some land and have some rabbits, George?" said Lennie, who was very big.
"Lonely guys like us gotta look after one another" said George. "Say, what's that you've got in your pocket?"
"It's only a mouse. I was pettin' it. I like to pet things," said Lennie.
"Well you squashed it you crazy bastard. You don' know your own strength, and you're simple."
"Have any of you lazy bastards seen my wife," a voice shouted.
"Who's that?" asked George.
"That's Curley. He the boss's son," said Slim. "You take care notta cross him. His new wife likes to give men the eye."
"Is she purty?" Lennie asked. "I like pettin' purty thangs."
"You stay away from her," George said. "You pet her an' you sure to squash her. Besides, women are just troublesome whores, and a lonely guy'll get banned from libraries just for saying that."
"Have youse bin messin' with ma wife," Curley yelled at Lennie. "Ain' you reelised yet that 'mongst us lonely men, the weak pick onna weaker," said Curley, landing several blows on Lennie.
"I jus' like to pet thangs," smiled Lennie, grabbing hold of Curley's hand and crushing it into splinters. "Tell me agin 'bout the lan' an' the rabbits we gonna git George."
"You one mad bastard," said Crooks, the crippled negro stable-hand. "I mebbe a nigger but youse a moron and that's an equally offensive term."
""Say whad'ya doin?" Curley's wife pouted.
"I bin pettin' the pup," said Lennie. "But it seems ta not be movin'."
"That's cos you gonna' squashed it. Why don' you play with my purty hair instead?"
"Oh naw," Lennie said. "Ah've gonna' squashed her too"
George heard the men coming for Lennie. "What you gonna dun' this time?" he said, placing his arm round Lennie's shoulder.
"We still gonna get us some lan', George?"
"We sure are, Lennie."
"An' rabbits?"
"Lotsa rabbits," George said, putting his gun to the back of Lennie's neck and pulling the trigger, thereby killing the American Dream.