How we cite our quotes: (Chapter.Paragraph)
Quote #4
Tomorrow he'll read the newspaper and wonder why this, too, isn't part of the story: that the press, however grudgingly, gathered as instructed to record in its stenographic capacity Norm's presentation of Bravo Squad, a blatantly formulaic marketing event that enlightened no one, revealed nothing, and served no tangible purpose other than to big-up awareness of the Cowboys brand. (Dry-Humping.38)
Woof. You can't talk authenticity without having a gripe about the media (or as Fountain distractingly and totally incorrectly calls it, "medias"). The problem with truth is that elements of it are often subjective. What one person might find important to present may be very different from what the media present. And if it's all orchestrated as some kind of promotional deal? Well, all bets are off then.
Quote #5
"Hunh. Sheee-uh. Or why anybodys even got to know. Like we ride wit yall a couple weeks, nobody even gonna know we there. We offerin' to help, yalls sayin' you doan need the help?"
"Billy!" Mango calls. "We're going."
Billy nods and turns back to Octavian. "Sure we could use the help. But—look, you wanna do extreme things, join the Army. They'll be more than happy to send you to Iraq."
The players snort, mutter, cast pitying glances his way. F*** that. Shee-uh. Hell to the naw naw naw…
"We got jobs," Octavian impresses on him, "this here our job, how you think we gonna quit our job go join some nigga's army? Fah like, wha, three years? Break our contract an' all?" Hilarious. They're laughing. Little squeals and snuffling yips escape their mouths.
"Go on," Octavian says, waving Billy away. "Go on now." (XXL.131-134)
These guys don't want to experience real war. They don't want to sign their lives away to the Army, dance to orders from people sitting behind desks, and face real danger. They just want a taste of war. They crave the violent release that made Billy and Bravo famous, but as for the rest of it? No way, José.
Quote #6
Outside the Whataburger booth he spots him, a smallish, twitchy kid with a head too big for his neck, ill dressed for the cold in a thin cotton hoodie and fake falling-apart Reebok, and why the fock would parents spend hundreds of dollars on Cowboys tickets when their son lacks a proper winter coat? It is infuriating, the psyche of the American consumer. (Everything.2)
When Billy goes looking for a kid to give his ball to, he's clearly looking for someone he considers authentic. To Billy, "real" means anyone who doesn't look like the rest of the kids at the game, who are economically advantaged beyond his wildest dreams. To him, those guys aren't the real Americans. The real American kid is one more like him: a little poor, a little cold, and really disenchanted with the world at a young age.