Nicole Hamlett

“FLAME ON, MOTHERFUCKER!”

“Swinging the door open, I took a sip. All of the coffee in the world wouldn't help if more visitors showed up at my door this early in the morning but the caffeine fortification was a bonus. The delivery guy pushed his clipboard at me. I held up my cup and raided my eyebrows.We had an entire conversation in the next seven seconds with our eyes and eyebrows.I told him that I wasn't giving up my coffee for his delivery. He told me that if I'd just sign on the damned dotted line he would get the hell out of here.I replied in turn that if he'd hold the clipboard instead of shoving it at me (I threw in a nod here for good measure), I'd sign the damned line.He finally sighed, turned the clipboard around and held the pen out.I braced the door with my hip, grabbed the pen and scrawled Wilma Flinstone on the paper.”

“Ok kiddo, turn off the Xbox and lets get some grub.""Awww Mom!""Don't you awww Mom me. You need to eat a decent meal, mister. However will you rule the world if you're malnourished? People aren't going to follow a skinny guy with patchy hair and no teeth, buddy. It's just not DONE.”

“Hopping over the side of the couch I landed on top of him. "My bones are so heavy! I don't think I can move." I groaned."Ack!" he grunted. "I can't breathe.""Oh noes! However will I get up so that my bubby can breathe?”

“Grace Murphy, defender of the downtrodden! Snarking one villain at a time with her acerbic wit and pointy boobs! If there was going to be super-natural mojo involved in my life, the least I could ask for was non-sagging boobs.”

“So you have a choice. You can leave quietly or I can call the police after I wang you with my stapler.”

“Did I say stab of Self Pity? No, I was trekking through the Swamp of Self Pity at this point, waist deep in my own stinking shit.”