Well, it's like I have a GPS inside me," I told them. "One of the talking ones. I tell it where I want to go, and it tells me, Go twenty miles, turn left, take Exit Ninety-fourm and so one. It can be pretty bossy, frankly. Their eyes widened. "Really?" said one. No you idiot," I said in disgust. "I don't know how it works. I just know it has an unfailing ability to point me in the opposite direction of a bunch of boneheads.

In case you guys didn't catch last week's episode, I'm out of the flock," I informed them. "Angel has no allegiance to me. She's wanted me gone for a long time. And in case you didn't catch all the episodes from the past year, Angel is... unbalanced." "Untrustworthy," Fang seconded. "Unpredictable," Jeb added. "Dangerous," Dylan chimed in.

Don’t be afraid.” “I hear voices,” Iggy said. “Be very afraid.

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.

Our parents were a test tube and a turkey baster.

"Uh-huh," I said. "Because all you mad, evil scientists sit around whipping up batches of Pillsbury's finest during your coffee breaks. I mean, this is pathetic."

When I wanted information, it was silent; when I didn't want to hear from it, it got chatty. It was alost as irritating as Fang.