Awwww, lame, we're not going to disneyworld. (said by the amazing talking dog, Total)

Fang, fang. I love you. I looooove you. I love you thiiiiiiiiiis much!

I didn't care for most of the books I was being asked to read in school. I started reading like crazy right after high school when I got a job in a mental hospital. I was working my way through college, and I did a lot of night shifts, and there was nothing to do. So I read like crazy, serious stuff, all the classics.

Sighing, she gave a brief nod. “I was supposed to win. I was supposed to finish you off. They never counted on you winning. And then you didn’t kill me. It was awful.” “You’re welcome,” I said, feeling fresh anger ignite. “I’ll try not to humiliate you by letting you live next time.” (Max II to Max)

I hung my head, and I felt someone, Fang, gather me gently to him. My cheek rested on his shoulder, and my silent tears soaked his torn shirt.He felt warm and strong and heartbreakingly familiar. And at that moment, not a single thing in my life was certain, strong, or whole. Nothing. Least of all Fang.

I fell into a deep sleep tucked in that little cocoon, a deeper sleep than I might of had in years. Right up until someone kicked me and said "Gotcha!

Dead Max was the biggest oxymoron in history.