Hold Me Closer, Necromancer

My mom believed in the universal healing powers of hot chocolate, especially if the wound was an emotional one.

-She cheated.
-How? By being better than you?

“On top of all that, you’re naked. And while I’m going to hate myself for this later, could you put on some clothes? At least just for a little while, so I can think. Then you can go right back to being naked. All the time. With my full blessing.”

“I should have known. New-age Celtic-loving hippies, making my life hell.”

How come I couldn’t meet a nice, naked, well-read girl until I was kidnapped and thrown into a cage?

Am I the only one who thinks that psychopathic killer types should have imposing names like Vlad the Impaler, Genghis Khan, or Vigo the Carpathian? As a name, Douglas was a letdown.

You know what the great thing about babies is? They are like little bundles of hope. Like the future in a basket.

Most people felt lost after high school. Sometimes I felt like I'd never really been found in the first place.

Mrs. Winalski owned a candy-apple-red 1965 Mustang GT convertible, and she drove it like she could die at any minute and needed to get five things done before that happened.

Even among the anomalies, I was an anomaly. I took some pride in that. Or I would have, if my source of pride hadn’t also been my death sentence.