“It’s hard to talk about guns without sounding defensive or blustery. I’m pro-gun the same way I’m pro-potato fork. I use them both to gather food for the year, with the caveat that if you break into my house, I won’t be waiting for yo at the top of the stairs with a potato fork.”

“Did you know you can drink food? It’s true! It’s called soup, and I eat it with a fork. I’m as efficient as the government.
”

“Are you ready for my love gun?” he says.Uh-oh. “What’s a love gun? Is that a sex toy?”“No,” he says. “I’m talking about my penis.”“Oh,” I say. “Then yes. Fire away”

“At the front window was something that looked like a machine gun with a cluster of barrels. “Rocket launcher?” he wondered aloud. “Nope, nope! Potatoes. Ella doesn't like potatoes.”“Ella! Where are the others?”“Roof. Ogre-watching. Ella doesn't like ogres. Potatoes.”Potatoes? Frank didn't understand until he swiveled the machine gun around. Its eight barrels were loaded with spuds. At the base of the gun, a basket was filled with more edible ammunition…“They have cannonballs,” Frank said, “and we have a potato gun.”“Starch,” Ella said thoughtfully. “Starch is bad for ogres.”

“I have a fork and a spoon, but never a knife… as if I’m lacking manual skills or teeth. I have both, however. That’s why I’m not allowed a knife.”

“The fork fell from my fingers, splatterng mashed potatoes across the table. I mustered my best "ice princess" look at met his gaze. "You're in my personal space, buddy.”