“At least you left out the oh-my-God sauce this time.""Made myself a batch with it," Shane said. "It's got the biohazard sticker on it in the fridge, so don't bitch if you get flamed.”

“Not bad,” she finally said. “At least you left out the oh-my-God sauce this time.”“Made myself a batch with it,” Shane said. “It’s got the biohazard sticker on it in the fridge, so don’t bitch if you get flamed. Where’d you pick up the stray?”“Outside. She came to see the room.”“You beat her up first, just to make sure she’s tough enough?”“Bite me, chilli boy.”

“Shane: "Bro," he said, in an injured tone, "I had to go out with a flamethrower, and you weren't there to see it." Michael: "Pics or it didn't happen." Shane: "Dude, little busy for pics. You know, throwing flame.”

“Seriously,” Shane said, “this kind of is the worst situation we’ve ever been in, right?”“Speak for yourself,” Michael said. “I got myself killed last year. Twice.”“Oh yeah. You’re right—last year really sucked for you.”

“The other day I woke up to find my girlfriend already gone from the house, and a sticky note on the fridge that said, "I love you." "Oh my God," I thought. "Somebody's obsessed with me, and they kidnapped my girlfriend just to get closer to me.”

“Give that mint Milano back, you bitch. If you can't at least be polite, you don't get a treat.”