Not saving you from this storm, mutant,” he said. “Saving you for your later fate, we are.” His voice was weirdly inflected and metallic, like an automated answering machine. “Oh, good. Yoda captured us,” Fang whispered.

Total?" I called. He looked up alertly, then ran over to me, small pink tongue hanging out. Total?" I said when he was close. "Can you talk?" He flopped down on the grass, panting slightly. "Yeah. So?" Jeezum. I mean, mutant weirdos are nothing new to me, you know? But a talking dog?

Angel wanted them all to burn in h-e- double toothpicks forever.

Fang felt a cold jolt, then dismissed it. Max wasn’t dead. He would know, somehow. He would have felt it. The world still felt the same to him; therefore, Max was still in it.

Why do things this beautiful make me want to cry?" I asked Michael as I leaned into him. It was an unguarded question, one I'd never have asked of Hugh. "I don't know," said Michael. "Maybe beauty, true beauty, is so overwhelming, it goes straight to our hearts. Maybe it makes us feel emotions that are locked away inside.

So the first thing we're gonna do," I told him, "is push you off the roof.

People always come up to me and say, 'you should do standup.' It's nice to discover things about yourself. That keeps everything lively and fun.