Our Parents Were A Test Tube And

I Shot Him The Bird. (get It? I Shot Him The—never Mind.)

Fang’s Hand Gently Smoothed My Hair Off My Neck. My Breath Froze In My Chest, And Every Sense Seemed Hyperalert. His Hand Stroked My Hair Again, So Softly, And Then Trailed Across My Neck And Shoulder And Down My Back, Making Me Shiver. I Looked Up. “what The Heck Are You Doing?” “helping You Change Your Mind,” He Whispered, And Then He Leaned Over, Tilted My Chin Up, And Kissed Me.

Sometimes A Happy Delusion Is Better Than Grim Reality.

In The Dictionary, Next To The Word Stress, There Is A Picture Of A Midsize Mutant Stuck Inside A Dog Crate, Wondering If Her Destiny Is To Be Killed Or To Save The World. Okay, Not Really. But There Should Be.

Dead Max Was The Biggest Oxymoron In History.