Just once, I want to meet the villain in a cheerful, brightly lit room. Possibly one with kittens.

By the time Buffy finished its Bay Area theatrical run - including a two-month stint at the dollar theater - I had seen the movie well over three dozen times. I was in love.

Sarah turned her narrow-eyed gaze on him, making me glad once more that Antimony's comic books got it wrong, and telepaths can't actually kill you with their brains. Give you a whopping headache and earworm you with annoying jingles, yes; kill you, no. (Although sometimes, when she's managed to stick "The Happy Banana Song" in my head for a week, I sort of wish she could kill people with her brain. It would be kinder.)

Being a King sort of sucks," I said. Quentin wrinkled his nose, "So does your outfit." "Blood is in this season.

Why is it you assholes always feel the need to tell the media your evil plans before you kill us?” asked Becks. “Is it a union requirement or something?

Most guys my age have girlfriends and drinking buddies on their speed dial. Me, I have the Memphis CDC.

My dear October, we are bound by an enchanted rose made from the hair of a Duchess, and my blood is covering your hand. You can learn anything you wish to know about me merely by licking you fingers." Tybalt laughed a little. "Yes, you may ask me a question.