“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.”

“Is it him?” Dad asked. “Did he get you into trouble?”“Not me,” Shane said. “I’ve just got that kind of face.”

“Shane's dad said, "I should have left you in the damn cage to fry, you ungrateful little bastard. You're no son of mine.""Hallelujah," Shane said softly. Free at last.”

“Oh, hey, Claire,” she said, and blinked. “Where are you going?”“Funeral,” Shane said. On-screen, a zombie shrieked and died gruesomely.“Yeah? Cool! Whose?”“Hers.” Shane said.”