Have you been playing in toxic waste lately?

Meaning what? We're going to pretend nothing's going on? That's stupid. The only way to deal with any of this is to get it out in the open." Have you been watching Oprah again?

Um, there's a girl meeting her friend,' he went on. 'Her friend is giving her an ice-cream cone. Oh-it's dripping. Huh. It, uh, dripped on her...chest.' Iggy drew in a hissing breath. It's gonna stain for sure,' the Gasman said. 'That's chocolate.' Hmm,' Fang said, watching, the girl dab at her chest with a paper napkin.

Blood City III: The Massacre. I'd read the summary of it online, and frankly, it sounded like the directors had just decided to film my life.

Just in case you thought elephants were all sweetness, I can attest to the fact that this one had the time of her life scaring the bejeezus out of those dudes.

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.

Everything I loved was taken away from me, and I did not die.