“Pain gettin’ cum spackle out of your pubes once it dries solid, you know.”

“My people always tol' me, 'You can stay in Hell a little while, long as you know you're gettin' out.”

“Who’d cum first, you or your clone? To find out, why don’t you go fuck yourself?”

“On the darkest days you have to search for a spot of brightness, on the coldest days you have to seek out a spot of warmth; on the bleakest days you have to keep your eyes onward and upward and on the saddest days you have to leave them open to let them cry. To then let them dry. To give them a chance to wash out the pain in order to see fresh and clear once again.”

“Spackle!” Manchee barks, tho he’s too chicken to attack now that I’ve held back. “Spackle! Spackle! Spackle!”“Shut up, Manchee,” I say.“Spackle!”“I said shut up!” I shout, which stops him.“Spackle?” Manchee says, unsure of things now.I swallow, trying to get rid of the pressure in my throat, the unbelieveable sadness that comes and comes as I look at it looking back at me. Knowledge is dangerous and men lie and the world keeps changing, whether I want it to or not.Cuz, it ain’t a Spackle.“It’s a girl,” I say.It’s a girl.”

“You know, I am so sick of cuttin' on my television and everyone on it is obsessed with livin' forever. Well, I have a news flash: Ain't none of us gettin' out of her alive.”