“She should have remembered her past experiences in the relationship wars and not let herself get so excited. Evidently her hormones had overruled her common sense and she had become drunk on ovarian wine, the most potent, sanity- destroying substance in the universe.”
“I'm not holding you against your will; I'm holding you against your car.”
“I thought you were a drunk."
"A drunk?"
"Bloodshot eyes, dirty clothes, getting home in the wee hours of the morning, making a lot of
noise, grouchy all the time as if you had a hangover… what else was I to think?"
He rubbed his face. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking. I should have showered, shaved, and dressed in a
suit before I came out to tell you that you were making enough noise to raise the dead.”
“Honey, the only experts in PMS are men. That's why men are so good at fighting wars; they learned Escape and Evade at home.”
“You were happy last night. This morning is a different story."
"You think I have a hangover. I don't. Well a little headache, but not much. Just let this be a warning to you if you keep me from sleeping again tonight."
"I kept you from sleeping? I kept you from sleeping?" he repeated incredulously. "You are the same woman who shook me out of a sound sleep at two a.m. yesterday morning, aren't you?"
"I didn't shake you. I kind of bounced on you, but I didn't shake you."
"Bounced," he repeated.
"You had a hard-on. I couldn't let it go to waste, could I?"
"You could have woke me up before you started not to let it go to waste."
"Look," she said exasperated, "If you don't want used, don't lie on your back with it sticking up like that. If that isn't an invitation, I don't know what is."
"I was asleep. It does that on its own." It was doing it on its own right know, as a matter of fact. It poked her in the stomach.
She looked down... and smiled. It was a smile that made his testicles draw up in fear.
With a sniff, she turned her back on him and ignored him as she finished showering.
"Hey!" he said, to get her attention. Alarm was in his tone. "You aren't going to let this one go to waste are you?”
“He lifted the arm covering his eyes and turned his head to glare at her. "I knew you were trouble the first time I saw you."
"What do you mean, trouble?" She sat up, glaring back at him. "I am not trouble! I'm a very nice person except when I have to deal with jerks!"
"You're the worst kind of trouble," he snapped. "You're marrying trouble.”
“Are you making fun of my hero complex?'
Yeah.”
“If you're looking for Mr. Perfect, you‟re going to spend your whole life being disappointed, because he doesn‟t exist. You have to get the best deal you can, but there will always be problems.”
“At the moment, he kinda knew how the male praying mantis felt when he
was approaching Ms. Mantis, knowing the sex was going to be great but he was going to gethis head bitten off.
Ah, well. Some things were worth losing your head.”
“Don’t kiss me,” she said warningly.
“I don’t intend to,” he replied, smiling a little. “I don’t have my whip and chair with me.”
“His mouth was hot and hungry, and he kissed the way no man should kiss and still be allowed to run free.”
“REQUIRED TO TAKE A COMBINATION OF GINKGO AND VIAGRA, SO YOU CAN REMEMBER WHAT THE FUCK YOU’RE DOING.”
“He snorted. "They were probably scared."
"Scared!" For some reason, that hurt, just a little. She felt her lower lip wobble. "I'm not that bad, am I?"
"Worse," he said cheerfully. "You're hell on wheels. You're just lucky I like hot rods”
“Okay, let me get a pen." There were rustling noises. "I can't find one." More noises. "Okay,shoot."
"You found a pen?"
"No, but I have a can of Cheez Whiz. I'll write your number on the counter with it, then find a pen and copy it."
Jaine recited her number and listened to the spewing noise as Shelley Cheez-Whizzed it on her countertop.”
“...a kid, maybe eight years old, ran up and poked her in the ribs with a plastic laser weapon, making electric zinging noises as he repeatedly pulled the trigger. “You’re dead,” he said victoriously. His mother came hurrying up, looking harassed and helpless. “Damian, stop that!” She gave him a smile that was little more than a grimace. “Don’t bother the nice people.” “Shut up,” he said rudely. “Can’t you see they’re Terrons from Vaniot.”
The kid poked her in the ribs again. “Ouch!” He made those zinging noises again, taking great pleasure in her discomfort. She plastered a big smile on her face and leaned down closer to precious Damian, then cooed in her most alienlike voice, “Oh, look, a little earthling.” She straightened and gave Sam a commanding look. “Kill it.” Damian’s mouth fell open. His eyes went as round as quarters as he took in the big pistol on Sam’s belt. From his open mouth began to issue a series of shrill noises that sounded like a fire alarm. Sam cursed under his breath, grabbed Jaine by the arm, and began tugging her at a half-trot toward the front of the store. She managed to snag her purse from the buggy as she went past.
“Hey, my groceries!” she protested. “You can spend another three minutes in here tomorrow and get them,” he said with pent-up violence. “Right now I’m trying to keep you from getting arrested.”
“For what?” she asked indignantly as he dragged her out of the automatic doors. People were turning to look at them, but most were following the sounds of Damian’s shrieks to aisle seven. “How about threatening to kill that brat and causing a riot?”
“I didn’t threaten to loll him! I just ordered you to.”
“FIRST YOU PILLAGE, THEN YOU BURN. THOSE WHO DO NOT COMPLY WILL BE SUSPENDED FROM THE RAIDING TEAM.”
“You guys take over while I go put on a shirt."
Mrs. Kulavich had edged close enough to hear him. She beamed at him. "Don't bother on my
account," she said. "Sadie!" Mr. Kulavich said in rebuke.
"Oh, hush, George! I'm old, not dead!"
"I'll remind you of that the next time I want to watch the Playboy Channel," he growled.”
“Anything over eight is strictly for show-and-tell”
“XEROX AND WURLITZER HAVE ANNOUNCED THEY
WILL MERGE TO MARKET REPRODUCTIVE ORGANS”
“Well, you've done it now," was her sisterly
opening shot.
Jaine rubbed between her eyebrows; a definite headache was forming. After the exchange with
David, she waited to see where this one was going.
"I won't be able to hold up my head in church."
"Really? Oh, Shelley, I'm so sorry," Jaine said sweetly. "I didn't realize you have the dreaded
Limp Neck disease. When were you diagnosed?”
“I told you, we haven't had sex! It was just a kiss." Like the Viper was just a car, and Mount
Everest was just a hill.”
“I’m Sam Donovan.”
“I know who you are. Mrs. Kulavich told me. I’m Jaine Bright.”
“I know. She told me. She even told me how you spell your name.”
Now, how on earth had Mrs. Kulavich known that?”
“Luna was remote and ladylike. The only time anyone had ever seen Luna angry was when someone referred to her as 'African-American'.
"I'm an American," she had snapped, whirling on the offender. "I've never even been to Africa. I was born in California, my father was a major in the Marine Corps, and I'm not a hyphenated anything. I have a black heritage, but I also have a white one." She had held out one slim arm and studied the color of it. "Looks to me like I'm brown. We're all just different shades of brown,so don't try to set me apart.”
“Nice is good. It doesn’t sound exciting, but think about it. I think Mr. Perfect would be kind to kids and animals, help old ladies across the street, not insult you when your opinion is different from his. Being nice is so important it’s close to being number one.”
“C’mon! Anything over eight inches is strictly for show-and-tell. It’s there, but you can’t use it. It might look good in a locker room, but let’s face it—those extra two inches are leftovers.” “Leftovers,” Luna gasped, holding her stomach and shrieking with laughter. “Let’s hear it for l-leftovers!”
“Know why PMS is called PMS?” “Don’t you dare,” she threatened. “Only women can tell PMS jokes.” “Because ‘mad cow disease’ was already taken.”
“Honey, the only experts in PMS are men. That’s why men are so good at fighting wars; they learned Escape and Evade at home.”
“Faithfulness.” She thought of her second fiance, the bastard. “Life’s too short to waste it on someone you can’t trust. You should be able to depend on the man you love not to lie to you or cheat on you. If you have that as a base, you can work on the other stuff.”
“And if you do anything to hurt my mom’s cat, I’ll take you apart cell by cell. I’ll mutilate your DNA so it can never reproduce, which would probably be a good thing for the world.”
“She knew better than to lose her head over a man. That was what was so humiliating: she knew better. Three broken engagements had taught her that a woman needed to keep her wits about her when dealing with the male species, or she could get seriously hurt.”
“She looks at the swings, and I can see she’s imagining what they’d look like if the kids weren’t there. The guilt of this holds her down momentarily. It appears to be there constantly. Never far away, despite her love for them.
I realize that nothing belongs to her anymore and she belongs to everything.”
“I kicked off my shoes and pulled his hand away from the wheel so I could straddle his lap and hold him. His grip on me was excruciatingly tight, but I didn't complain. We were on an insanely busy street, with endless cars rumbling past on one side and a crush of pedestrians on the other, but neither of us cared. He was shaking violently, as if he were sobbing uncontrollably, but he made no sound and shed no tears.
The sky cried for him, the rain coming down hard and angry, steaming off the ground.”
“That was one problem with dramatic exits: Sometimes they wound up making you look like a bubblehead.”
“He had a newspaper rolled in his hand, bearing down on me like a puppy that had piddled on the carpet.
"Bad Chloe,” I muttered.
"What?”
I’d forgotten his bionic hearing. “Bad Chloe.” I gestured at the rolled-up paper and put
out my hand. “Get it over with.”
“The world is holy! The soul is holy! The skin is holy!
The nose is holy! The tongue and cock and hand
and asshole holy!
Everything is holy! everybody's holy! everywhere is
holy! everyday is in eternity! Everyman's an
angel!”
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