The tendency of modern American women to exclaim 'Hiiiiiiiiiiii!' in soprano octaves and hug each other upon sight can be disconcerting to those unfamiliar with it.

How would you take care of it?” I asked. He shrugged. “I know some ghouls. I make a couple calls, the guys come over for dinner, problem solved.” “They can put away nine whole giants? There’s that many ghouls in town?” “Probably not,” Leif admitted. “But whatever they do not eat tonight, they’ll take the rest to go.” I stared at him in disbelief. “You mean like a doggie bag?” The vampire nodded with a thin trace of a smile. “They have a refrigerated truck, Atticus. These are practical guys.

Lie down and offer your throat. No, wait, that's how dogs submit. I know! Offer her you're wallet!" Oberon

Winning ugly is still winning.

I yawned and stretched luxuriously in the morning. I make noises when I stretch because it feels ten times better than stretching silently.

It’s best not to experiment on yourself. Bacon practically froze himself to death in one of his experiments and died of pneumonia.” {Right! Bacon must be heated. Knew that already, but thanks for the reminder.}

Granuaile looked terminally depressed when she emerged from the bathroom with raven hair and, as a result rather Goth by accident. She didn't want to get her picture taken. "Aughh!" she said miserably, looking in the vanity mirror in the truck of the cab and fingering a wavy curl near her temple. "This sucks more than anything has ever sucked before. You know what we look like? A couple of emo douche bags." "Well, look at the bright side, Granuaile. Emo Douche Bags would be a great band name." [That's brilliant! It's already the unofficial name of more bands than I can count.]