“You decent?” I pulled the towel up a little higher. “Yes, if my wrinkled toes don’t offend.” Marco’s swarthy head popped around the doorjamb. “Naw, they’re cute.”

“I want you to picture me as a cute little anime character that popped out from behind a mushroom or something and landed in Hollywood.”

“The line from Pulp Fiction—the one Samuel L. Jackson shouts at John Travolta as they’re trying to wash blood off their hands—pops into my head: 'I used the same soap you did and when I dried my hands, the towel didn't look like no fuckin’ maxi-pad!' I almost—almost—share this most quotable of cinematic quotes with him, when I remember it contains The Word. You know: 'maxi-pad.”

“Say ‘pop.’ ”“Pop?”“That was the sound of me pulling your head out of your ass. If you stick it back up there again, there is nothing I can do about it. This is the only lecture you’ll ever get from me.”

“Say 'pop.'" "Pop?" "That was the sound of me pulling your head out of your ass.”

“Either you can work on both, or you can keep thinking with your balls. It's your choice. Say 'pop.'""Pop?""That was the sound of me pulling your head out of your ass. If you stick it back up there again, there is nothing I can do about it. This is the only lecture you'll ever get from me."I headed for the door.”