“Even if there were only seventeen syllables left in the universe, I still don’t think The Mythical Mr. Boo would write a haiku. Especially not if those syllables were groups of “oh,” “no,” “ah,” “ouch,” “ugh,” “eek,” and “shit!”

“Someday I want to write a sixteen-syllable Haiku about the death and disappearance of a monosyllabic word.”

“Orafoura doesn’t know shit about what I said, said Orafoura, quoting The Mythical Mr. Boo to me about the shit that’s been said about him.”

“The Mythical Mr. Boo is so mythical the he always likes to be the centaur of attention.”

“I would hate to see seventeen people with monosyllabic names like Mike or Ann die, but if they did, and you wrote down all their names in groups of 5-7-5, you'd have one tragic haiku.”

“In the midst of the mist lies a mystery that only The Mythical Mr. Boo can solve. Nothing is more mystical, more foggy, and more less than love, so in matters of the heart I turn to him, because he isn’t real.”

“I’d prefer going on a date with 10 women at once. Not only might I get a bulk discount at the restaurant, but it’s like a group interview. I think the ladies would appreciate my efficiency. Ah, but that’s life, no?”