Apparently you don't have to observe the Rules of Etiquette when reuniting with a muderous spouse.

Do you even know what hammerd means?" I asked. "Something to do with drinking your American beer out of a hole in the side of a can?" Dave reached over and slapped him on the shin. "Close enough.

And then it hit me. One of those evil thoughts siblings get because, well, that's what we do. Looking over my shoulder I said, "You know, since you have some free time, maybe you could...never mind." "What?" "Well it's just that, all those calories you've been drink - I mean - not burning off have kind of settled on your gut. I didn't want to mention anything," I said as Dave's hand stole to his midsection. "But the general pointed out that you'd lost a few steps training-wise." I laughed and waved my hand. "I'm sure it's nothing switching to a light beer won't cure.

The girl in me wanted to slap Lung across his face and yell, "Get your eyes off my sticky buns, ya creep!

Vayl, this is not a pleasant moment for me," I confessed. "No?" "Locked in a windowless, doorless room with a dancing, headless corpse and a secret sucker that can move fast enought to tear us both a new one if I miss?

All you can do is hang in there and hope you don't get motion sickness and puke all over the newspapers.

Have you dared to eat my son?" I laughed. Actually, it started out as more of a giggle that grew. Because my mind went straight to the gutter.