and standing before me a bloodied bottle of Absolut in her hand, is Mrs. Allington, her pink jogging suit drenched, her chest heaving, her eyes filled with contempt as she stared down at Rachel's prone body. Mrs. Allington shakes her head. "I'm a size twelve," she says.

I used to draw and illustrate, but I don't do that anymore because I just like to write. I like to leave the illustrations to actual professional illustrators.

No matter how nice the company one might be with, however, it is never pleasant to have a rifle pointed at one's back.

Bite me, Harry Potter.

Why can't you just get married in Las Vegas like normal Americans?

You know what you sound like? A jealous girl friend. And how are things on Planet You Wish?

And I'm sure than in Poland, or somewhere, it is considered cool to drive a Porsche and wear necklaces and black silk, but at least back in Brooklyn if you did those things you were either a drug dealer or from New Jersey.