In a moment of sheer terror, I realized I couldn't feel my brain. It was there just a minute ago. Maybe I really was dead. "Do I look dead to you?

Never trust a man with a penis.

Oh, my god!" I said, throwing my hands over my eyes and hurtling my body against the counter.
"What?"
"You're naked."
"I'm not naked."
"I'm blind."
"You're not blind. I'm wearing pants."
"Oh." That was embarrassing.

Ambulances were cool. “You just want to fondle my extraneous body parts,” I said to the EMT as I picked up a silver gadget that looked disturbingly like an alien orifice probe, broke it, then promptly put it back, hoping it wouldn’t leave someone’s life hanging in the balance because the EMT couldn’t alien-probe his orifices.

You called me at four thirty-four....I hate four thirty-four. I think four thirty-four should be banned and replaced with something more reasonable, like, say, nine twelve.

I was never really certain why he scared the bejesus out of me. Nothing scared me growing up. I’ve been playing with dead people since the day I was born, so it’s good thing, yet the Big Bad scared me. Which brings me to the reason I called.”
“Which was to give me nightmares for the rest of my life?”
“Oh, no, that’s just a plus. Why was I so scared of him?”
“Hon, for one thing he was this powerful, massive, black smokelike being.”
“So, you’re saying I’m a racist?