Bombs Are Good. I Love Bombs."--iggy

As A Maternal Figure, I Always Try To Keep The Flock Safe, Of Course. But I Admit, It Did My Heart Proud To See The Instant Blood-lust Pop Into Gazzy’s Blue Eyes And To See Little Angel Automatically Tense Up And Get Into Fighting Stance, Ready To Rip Someone’s Head Off. They Were Just So — So Dang Adorable, Sometimes.

When Did They Start Coming After You?” “was It—was It After The Oil- Slick Hummer Crash?” The Gasman Asked Iggy Tentatively. My Eyes Widened. Oil-slick Hummer Crash? Iggy Rubbed His Chin, Thinking. “or Maybe It Was More---after The Bomb,” The Gasman Said In A Low Voice, Looking Down. “i Think It Was The Bomb,” Iggy Agreed. “that Definitely Seemed To Tick Them Off.” “bomb?” I Asked Incredulously.

Men Suck, Even Imaginary Ones

When My Son, Jack, Was Four, I Had To Make A Trip To Los Angeles. I Asked Him If He Was Going To Miss Me. 'not So Much,' Jack Told Me. 'you're Not Going To Miss Me?' I Said. Jack Shook His Head, And He Said, 'love Means You Can Never Be Apart.

The Best Way To Get Kids Reading More Is To Give Them Books That They'll Gobble Up - And That Will Make Them Ask For Another.