“He hadn’t actually acted since his high school senior play (where he had famously skipped two whole pages of dialog and died fifteen minutes too soon),”

“DINNER went off without a hitch up until the part where people actually sat down at the table and began to eat. After that it went horribly wrong.”

“By standing and with me sitting, he was showing he was the dominant male in the room. I, however, had a .38 in a holster under my jacket, so I won.”

“several complaints that night, ranging from people thinking cats were fighting to one soul who thought that a neighbor was playing a Yoko Ono album much too loud.”

“It’s my spider, Jeffrey. He’s a tarantula.” “Yes, he certainly seems to be.” “He’s my pet.” “Better you than me. I’m not overly fond of spiders. Too many legs.” “No,” Ernie said simply, “he’s got the right number.”

“My hand found its way back to her knee. I hoped it was to comfort her. I’d hate to think that my right hand was straight. “Soon. I’ll call her this afternoon and get back to you.” She nodded. I removed my right hand, thankful that I was left-handed. I’d hate to have to try masturbating with a straight hand. It probably wouldn’t cooperate. And then where would I be?”

“Daisy was my beloved bulldog, who had some problems of her own—the main one being that she, too, was no longer alive. However, she wasn’t a ghost like Robbie. Daisy was a zombie. Long story.”