I still have a whopping bad case of what you call scag magnetism. I thought i had gotten rid of it there, but it looks like scary guys still materialize from thin air in my presence. They are drawn to me. I am the North Pole, and they are the explorers of love.

I don't know if there is actually more rain here in England, or if it was just that the rain seemed to be so deliberately annoying. Every drop hit the window with a peevish "Am I bothering you? Does this make you cold and wet? Oh, sorry.

Go see old virgins! Now ask a strange boy out, you shy, Retarded thing!

She wasn't only gay, she was a gay elf.

Mouth guard. And I think we'll start you in goal." Goal sounded like a special job. I didn't want a special job, unless that special job involved sitting on the side under a pile of blankets.

Did I just kill someone?" "You can't kill a dead person," Callum said. "Makes no sense.

Tell me what you want, what you really, really want," he said. "Braiiinnnnssss," we said in unison.