“Now, I figured that the built-up gas in most boys' locker rooms was enough to cause an explosion, so I wasn't surprised when the flaming dodgeball ignited a huge WHOOOOOOOM!”

“Just as I was beginning my drift into unconsciousness, there was an explosion. Not a movie explosion but a small real-life explosion, like the ignition of an unhappy gas oven that holds a grudge against its owner.”

“I wired my gas pedal to my stereo, so now when I crank up the volume the car accelerates.”

“I let out a string of curses that would put even the boy's locker room to shame, ending with an emphatic kick to the mailbox post.And the worst part was of coure it wasn't there yet. My weird nerves all day were pointless.”

“What... Are you on strike from wearing deodorant now too? You smell like a boy's locker room after a wrestling match!”

“She slid open the box, extracted a match, and struck it with a flourish. The flame flared up in the gloom of the unlit room, a tiny golden beacon. For a moment, Oma Kristel held it aloft, then the unthinkable happened. The match slipped out of her fingers and fell straight onto her pink mohair bosom. With a whooomph! like the sounds of a gas furnace firing up, the hairspray with which Oma Kristel had doused herself ignited, obliterating her in a column of flames.”