Oh my God, this can't be happening!" I cried. "What?" "Mopeds? Those are the wheels Pete gives us? I knew he was pissed off at me! It was all that time I spent in the hospital wasn't it? Or was it the wrecks? But I only tore up one car last time! And that wasn't my fault!

It must've been Albert's military background, because man, when he dropped a bomb the entire country shook. I was still jittery as a hurricane survivor in New Orleans, and I was sure that somewhere in Alaska some poor Inuit had just taken a tumble from his sled for the very same reason.

That's what I'd call him if he was my dog. Jacket-humper. Kinda had a ring to it. Although it seemed a little long for vet visits and intros to lady dogs.

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.

I'm sure it's nothing switching to a light beer won't cure.

It looks as if I was thinking what you were thinking." "Actually, you weren't. I was really thinking I needed to ask you a question." "What was that?" "Do you think we should ask Goatee Guy how to find the caterer?" I smiled at him innocently as his eyebrows pratically met above his nose. "I am never going to share my pet peeves with you again."

Hey, if you decided to tear up the town, you can always use the leftover bread from my breakfast in place of your cane. I'm pretty sure it's hard enough to bust heads.