If Cameron kidnaps you, kills you, then buries your lifeless body in a shallow grave in the desert where your remains lay decomposing for several decades until they're accidentally discovered by some guy on a journey to awaken his spirit at the Salinas Pueblo Missions, can I have your iMac?" I gaped at her. "You've really thought this out. "I love your iMac." "I love my iMac too, and you're not getting her." "But you'll be decomposing.

No. This has to do with drugs." My jaw fell open and I almost lost my toothbrush. "You're on drugs?" She pressed her mouth together. "No. You are." "I'm on drugs?" I asked, stunned. I had no idea.

You totally need to watch the news." "Can't." "Why?" "It's too depressing." "Right, because hanging with dead people isn't.

If it weren’t for physics and law enforcement, I’d be unstoppable.

After a geological epoch passed in which single-celled organisms evolved into talk show hosts, Mr. Coffee was still holding out on me.

Dead people I could handle. They were usually beyond hysteria. This was the people-left behind part. The hard part.

But, you're his son," I said, trying really hard to hate him. "You're the son of Satan. Literally." "And you are the stepdaughter of Denise Davidson." Wow. That was a bit harsh, but, "Okay, point taken.