A brick could be divided into four equal pieces and split among three friends. I’ll take the two largest pieces, or half, whichever makes me appear the most generous.

Matt would stare at Andrew for 10 minutes. It's depressing that people are different. Everyone should be one person, who should then kill itself in hand-to-hand combat.

I don't like hello. It makes me sound like I have dementia, like I've never heard a phone ring before and I don't know what's supposed to happen next. Hello?

You cannot control faeries. Can. Not. They aren't logical or rational. They don't obey the same laws (physical, social, emotional, traffic - you name it) that we do.

I have the Denver Omelet of accents. And considering I’m from Denver, it makes sense. Now if I also lived in Cheeseland (Wisconsin) it would make perfect, yummy sense.

She said, “You disgust me. How do you live with yourself?” So I said, “Like I live with my clone: with many pats on the back, accompanied by high flattery.

Schrödinger’s cat was a Siamese cat, must have been, because if it’s at once alive and dead, it’s a zombie, and the only zombie cats are Siamese cats.

I had to say it gave me a warm feeling to picture Meredith Winslow spending twenty years or so in an ill fitting orange jumpsuit, cozying up to a great big girl named Beulah

To me love is like a cup of soapy dishwater. Sure, I’ll drink it, but I won’t swish it around in my mouth while you try to stuff filthy silverware down my throat.

I think all toys should be invisible. Not only would they improve children’s imaginations, but they’d also be really affordable. In fact, every toy would be free.

I’m 30-years-old, and I still can’t get out from under my father’s shadow. He’s really tall, so maybe I’ll just ask him to move over a few feet.

I always felt that Jim Morrison was a terrible name for the front man of The Doors. No, for a band called The Doors, a name like Rusty Hinge would have been more appropriate.

I used to have Santa and the whole coal thing, but between Wade and their father, the little shits get whatever they want. They no longer feel like they need the fat bastard!

What was that?" Rich combined the pain of a crooked arm with the indignity of a flicked ear. I could only hope the situation didn't escalate to the dreaded purple nurple.

What are you?” he demanded. “A slayer?" I rolled my eyes. “The name's Val, not Buffy. Do I look like a blond cheerleader with questionable taste in men?