Pretty much everyone hates high school. It's a measure of your humanity, I suspect. If you enjoyed high school, you were probably a psychopath or a cheerleader. Or possibly both. Those things aren't mutually exclusive, you know. I've tried to block out the memory of my high school years, but no matter how hard you try, it's always with you, like an unwanted hitchhiker. Or herpes. I assume.

When I was little, my father used to sell guns and ammo at a sporting goods store, but I always told everyone he was an arms dealer, because it sounded more exciting.

[On acupuncture:] The needles are small and won't hurt at all. In fact, they'll feel good. Ha, ha! Just kidding. They feel like needles. Because they are.

When someone writes something hateful and threatening I respond with something like, "I want to be so much like you; I want to wear your skin." By messing with them in that way you change what they're selling. They won't share it. And it halts the conversation. Or I'll change it to "Jenny, you're like a rose bush that grew a watermelon." They come back pissed off and write, "I didn't say that!"

I very much own the fact that I'm a misfit. The Internet makes everyone realize they're screwed up.

A friend is someone who knows where all your bodies are buried. Because they're the ones who helped you put them there." And sometimes, if you're really lucky, they help you dig them back up.

No," I replied testily. "I'm pretty sure 'digital' is Latin for 'fingeral,' so finger cancer equals digital cancer. This is all basic anatomy, Dr. Roland." The Dr. Roland told me that he thought I was overreacting, and the "fingeral" wasn't even a real word. Then I told him that I though he was underreacting, probably because he's embarrassed that he doesn't know how Latin works. Then he claimed that "underrecating" isn't a word either. The man has a terrible bedside manner.