Fang snorted in disbelief. "On one hand, we have a mythical nice family that wants to adopt me. On the other, we have a gang of insane scientists desperate to do genetic experiments on innocent children. Guess which hand I get dealt?

I don't know about the rest of you who have little voices, but something about mine made me feel completely compelled to listen to it.

This is my brain: O This is my brain after making out with Fang: * It's very sad.

Advice: Don’t wait until someone you have issues with — especially someone you’re related to — gets shot before you work it out.

He could totally be your boyfriend," [Angel] went on with annoying persistence. "You guys could get married. I could be like a junior bridesmaid. Total could be your flower dog.

She had a lot of hugs to give, but not enough people to give them to.

Unfortunately, every time someone said “debriefing,” the entire flock had one image: someone’s tighty-whities disappearing in a flash. We were smothering our giggles, but it was getting harder. Coupled with the whole “naval this, and naval that,” with its undeniable belly-button connotations, we were essentially turning into a sugar-jacked, sleep-deprived flock of incoherent, silly, recombinant-DNA goofballs. This was not going to end well.