“Zircoff," I said, "put the tomatoes away." "Piss," he said, "I wish they were hand grenades.”
“I swallowed a hand grenade that never stops exploding.”
“Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying,"Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?" And I said, "Here am I. Send me!" -Isaiah 6:8”
“What the holy hand grenade was that?”
“It's amazing--my parents call everything a discussion. If I were standing across the street, firing a bazooka at my mother, while my father was launching mortar back at me, and Jeffery was charging down the driveway with a grenade in his teeth, my parents would say we should stop having this public "discussion".”