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

Does Uncle Bob have anything?" "I heard he has an STD." "I mean on the women." "Oh, I have no idea if they have any STDs.

Wait, what are you doing?” She could apparently hear the strain in my voice as I craned my neck from side to side. “I’m trying to see past a little girl on my hood." “Oh. Isn’t that dangerous?” “Normally. But she has a knife.” “Oh, well, then, I guess it’s okay.

Before I tell you, I have to know three things," I said. "Okay." "One, are you sitting down?" "Yes." "Two, are you mentally stable?" "More than you'll ever be." Well, that was uncalled for. "And three, how do you spell schizophrenia?" "What does that have to do with anything?" "Nothing. I just wanted to see if you'd tell me.

I stop fighting my inner demons. We're on the same side now. T-shirt

He bombarded me with words, of all things, apparently clueless to the fact that the predawn hours rendered me incapable of coherent thought.

This is one Fruit Loop beyond certifiable.