“The question, then, was how long could a human being stay awake? Keith Richards could party for three days straight, but I wasn't sure if he counted as a human being.”

“If this is what it's like to be human, he thought, no wonder the world is so fucked up.”

“Maybe everyone in the world was this inconsistent, this fragmented. All we could see of each other -- all we could see of ourselves -- was a ragged person-shaped outline, a game of connect-the-dots without enough dots.”

“I met him in the hospital.' I saw the eyebrow raise in my peripheral vision. 'Yeah, that hospital. He believes that powerful telepaths are secretly in charge of the planet, and that they're possessing people for their own entertainment.' 'Powerful telepaths...' Lew said. 'Slan,' I said. Lew burst out laughing. 'You mean you didn't know that Slan was nonfiction?' I said. 'Bertrum belongs to an organization that believes that Van Vogt intentionally--' 'What did you say--Van Vaht? It's Van Voh.' 'No, it's not. You've gotta pronounce the T at least.' 'What, Van Vote? Don't be an idiot. I bet you still say Submareener.' 'My point--,' I said. 'And Mag-net-o.' '--is that Bertrum thinks Van Voggatuh used fiction to cloak the truth.' 'As opposed to say, your friend, P.K. Dick, and Whitley Strieber, and--' 'Streeber.' 'And L. Ron Hubbard, who just made shit up and said it was the truth.' 'Exactly.' Lew nodded. 'I find your ideas intriguing and I'd like to subscribe to your newsletter. What's the name of this fine organization?' 'It gets better,' I said. "The Human League." 'No way.' 'I'm not sure they realized the name was taken.' 'My god, Lew said. 'It's the perfect cover for an elite fighting force -- an eighties New Wave band! This is so Buckaroo Banzai.”

“Jesus, he 's blogger," Pax said. "Arrest him, Deke.”

“Divine essence?' I said. 'Hey, I'm Fat Boy, I'll possess a guy and make him eat ten pounds of chocolate in one sitting! Yeah, that's divine, that's fucking deep, that's like ...' I couldn't think what that was like. It was like something, though.”

“You remember Ernest Angley? TV healer. He’d slap people’s foreheads—whap!—and they’d flop over, quivering like fish.” She hooted in laughter. “I used to love watching him. It was like professional wrestling for Baptists.”