“It also must be hard to have a wife like Mrs. Indianapolis. She’s in the fashion industry. She’s not a model or designer, but she is a buyer—not for a retail outlet, but for her four closets, whose combined square footage is probably comparable to Rhode Island. If an article of clothing is leopard print or neon colored, Mrs. Indianapolis either owns it, or soon will.”

“It’s now 4:17 am, and I just got done dealing with Mrs. Indianapolis, of Indiana. She’s a regular here, and she accompanies her husband on all his business meetings. When I say business meetings, I mean of course rounds of golf played at the prestigious TPC at Sawgrass. I feel bad for the guy. Life for a multi millionaire must be hard.”

“Tonight when she came down to the front desk she was wearing neon green hot pants and a pink leopard print jacket. But the best part was that her boots almost matched her jacket. I think she’s on to something. Why let the fact that you’re 65-years-old interfere with your ability to dress like a colorblind fourteen-year-old?”

“She always looks like she’s about to break into laughter. He always looks like he’s about to break into her house. I don’t care what he takes, so long as it’s me who steals her heart. I’ve already got a buyer lined up in Russia.”

“She’s beautiful, but she’s also got brains. I’ll bet zombies would love to eat out of her skull like a bowl of Jell-O that had an IQ of 180—which is absurd, because the last bowl of Jell-O I ate only measured in with an IQ of 123. Still, an IQ of 123 is more than double what it probably takes to be elected into political office.”

“Necessity is the mother of invention. She’s also my mother, though Invention and I have different dads.”

“She’s ultra conservative, while I am ultraviolet. I would show, but I’m beyond what anybody can see. I made her look like Helen Keller, with a wig and makeup, and I also made her look like Helen Keller in that she could look but she could not see.”