Look, nobody's trying to kill me right now and that's just fine. If they don't
like me, that's just how it goes. I got over needing people to LIKE me in tenth
grade, when I spied the captain of the cheerleading squad on her knees in
front of the offensive line of the football team under the bleachers, one day after school. I figured that wasn't the life for me.
You know, they did let you have that room,” I said. “In fact, I think they’re assuming you’ll use it, as opposed to lingering in strange hallways.”
She responded to me with, “Girl, I am bored outta my tits.”
“Can we have one cross-country quest without talking about your tits?”
Her pretty dark eyes went narrow and thoughtful, and she caressed her cheek with a long fingernail colored jack-o’-lantern orange. After a thoughtful pause, she shook her head. “I don’t
see how.”
“I figured.
Getting back to the issue of the child," Tina said, harshing our buzz as visual, "I really think you should reconsider. He—"
The phone rang. She picked it up, glanced at the caller ID.
"We're kind of busy," I said, a little sharply. The phone was a whole thing between Tina and me.
"But—"
"If it's important, they'll call back."
"But it's your mother."
I practically snarled. The phone, the fucking phone! People used it the way they used to use the cat-o'-nine-tails. You had to drop everything and answer the fucking thing. And God help you if you were home and, for whatever reason, didn't answer. "But I called!" Yeah, it was convenient for you so you called. But I'm in the shit because it wasn't convenient for me to drop everything and talk to you, on the spot, for whatever you needed to talk about.
You do not go near them. You do not allow them to touch you. If one does touch you, I will eat his spine."
"It's good," she commented, "that we're establishing rules. For instance, being a newcomer here, I might not understand the whole 'don't touch or be devoured' guideline..."
-Prince Maltese and Lt. Anne
Have you lost your teeny tiny mind, you too-tall, too-skinny, too-crazy jerk?”
“Oh, look who’s talking, Miss Let’s Blunder Around the Time Stream and Hang the Consequences! Thanks to you, we’ve got a dead Marc and a
live Marc in the same timeline . . . in the same house! Thanks to you, I got chomped on by a dim, blonde, undead, selfish, whorish, blood-sucking
leech when I was minding my own business in the past.”
“Don’t you call me dim!”
“Um. Everyone. Perhaps we should—” Tina began.
“Wait, when did this happen?” Marc asked. He had the look of a man desperately trying to buy a vowel. “Past, an hour ago? Past, last year? Help
me out.”
“Oh, biiiiig surprise!” Laura threw her (perfectly manicured) hands in the air. “Let me guess, you were soooo busy banging your dead husband
that you haven’t had time to tell anybody anything.”
“I was getting to it,” I whined.
“Then after not telling anyone anything and not being proactive—or even active!—you grow up to destroy the world and bring about eternal
nuclear winter or whatever the heck that was and how do you deal with your foreknowledge of terrible events to come? Have sex!”
“An affirmation of life?” Sinclair suggested. Never, I repeat, never had I loved him more. I was torn between slugging my sister and blowing my
husband. Hmm. Laura might have a point about my priorities . . . but jeez. Look at him. Yum.
“—even do it and what do you have to say for yourself? Huh?”
“You’re just uptight, repressed, smug, antisex, and jealous, you Antichristing morally superior, fundamentally evil bitch.”
Laura and Marc gasped. My husband groaned.
Mots clés humour
Honestly. Do guys really think that will fool us? 'Whoa, hi there, John. Gosh, for a second there I thought you were going bald, but I see now that you have a full, lush head of hair. Which grows sideways from left to right in sticky strands. Have I ever been this sexually excited? I think not.
MaryJanice DavidsonYeah, well, it's been a super fun week. And by 'super fun' I mean 'horrible and endless'.
MaryJanice DavidsonMots clés humor-inspirational
Somehow, when I wasn't looking, somehow because it's electronic mail, none of the basic grammar rules applied.
MaryJanice DavidsonHi," the werewolf said. He was dark-haired and broad, with gold eyes, big hands, and a feral scruffiness that Cole felt and instantly responded to. He had the weird urge to kill a cow and present it to the stranger. Two cows.
MaryJanice DavidsonI really did have my reasons. I don't blame you for being mmpphhh-phargle."
She mmpphh-phargled because he tugged her into his embrace and buried his nose in her hair.
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