“I’m busy trying not to look like anything edible.”

“I don’t need to look at your primal, white-hot, mutant pirate eyes, big guy. Just forget that I’m there, and I’ll try to block out the fact that I ever met you. Basically we’ll just act like we do every day.”

“Well then, I guess I’m man enough to admit that I’m trying to get in touch with my inner bitch.”

“Hey, any idea why Australians speak something that sounds deceptively like English but isn’t? I mean, I’m trying to figure out why I can’t seem to converse with another human being who speaks the same language as I do.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly how I feel when I’m around you: confused, but still satisfied.' I freeze, trying to figure out how to cancel it out and replace it with something that sounds a whole lot less like sex and a candy bar ad.”

“I look around briefly at the other players like I always do before a game. Other than Queenie, Bill, and Talon, I don’t know any of them (and I don’t care enough about them to know them). But if there’s going to be any cordiality, any forced politeness or ‘Aw, shucks, let’s all just try to have a good time here tonight’ kind of blather, then now’s the time to get it out of the way before I get down to the business of screwing everyone out of their hopes and dreams.”

“Are we turning back? Because if you’re just trying to solve my post-traumatic stress problem by exposing me to rock sharks until I’m desensitized, trust me—that ship has sailed.”