“That's it? 'Damn, it smells like the fishsticks are burning and don't do that with your head, Bode?' What the fuck?”

“Well, Bud," he said, looking at me, "I'll be damned if you don't go to a lot of trouble to have your fun. Kidnapping, then fighting. What do you do on your holidays? Burn houses?”

“Why don't you mind your own fucking business?" I snapped. "If I want to take my sister to my place of business, that's my own damned business and not any of your business." Was I overusing the word business? Fuck it. "So mind your own business.”

“Do people your age know how to comb their fucking hair? It looks like two squirrels crawled on their head and started fucking.”

“I don't care what your name is," she hisses. "And I don't care who you are. If you don't get him some help, I will burn your fucking place down." Go Carmel.”

“What is that?"..."Why do you smell like that?"..."Smell like what?""You smell delicious."..."You smell like food. Why do you smell like food?”