Thery're both iron, isn't that funny?""Funny haha or funny strange?"James handed them back to me "Funny 'occult'""Ah. Funny strange"James looked at me sternly, "Don't start that. I'm supposed to be the humorous one

Death smells like birthday cake.

I tried to picture her in a class, any class, anywhere on campus, and failed miserably. I pictured her frolicking in a forest glade around some guy she'd just sacrificed to a heathen god. That image worked way better.

Wow, you're never allowed to sleep late again. You're crankier than a fat guy in stilettos.

I've been waiting for you forever." "Forever' as in several hundred years, or forever as in since my lesson began?

The archangel Michael came down from on high and I asked him,'Lo, how can I getteth the stick from my friend Paul's ass?' and he said, 'This ought to go a long way.' And he gave me a six-pack of Heineken.

Interesting choice," Sullivan said. He slid his gaze over to Paul, who was drumming his fingers on the table in a manic, caffeine-inspired way and blinking a lot. Paul wasn't out-and-out singing along with the king of the dead, but he might as well have put out a big neon sign saying "How's My Driving? Ask Me About My Nerves: 1-800-WIG-N-OUT." --James