Oh, I forgot to mention it: My brother is the kind of man whom women stalk. In cooperative packs.

Too bad the things that make you mad are my favorite things.

What? I'm not ashamed to admit that random things remind me of Harry Potter.

If you masturbate, would that make you an incubator?”
I eyed him sideways, struggling not to laugh at his nonplussed expression or the sharp bark of mock outrage that followed.

He wasn't stalking anybody. He doesn't know anything.

Incidentally, if you have never stalked someone close to you, I highly recommend it. Check out how it tranforms them. How other they become, and how infinitely necessary and justified the stalking becomes when you realize how little you know about them, how mysterious every aspect of them seems with an at a distance but close examiniation.