Daven Anderson

When you f*** a Vampire, you get a free hat.

If we adopted Jack," I quip, "we'd have to give him combat pay for an allowance

You don't get to be the president of anything if you have bad manners.

I hate it when I go into a Snack Shack and they're out of Blue Ice. The other slushie flavors taste like cheap candy.

Since I can't turn into a bat and fly, I'll still need my bus pass

Remember, our kind protects you Normals from the Pures. We are the rope tied between man and super-beast. A rope forever dangling from the precipice. I tap Zetania's shoulder and ask, "What's a precipice?" "A cliff's edge," she whispers. Precipice. Must be a French word.

I floor the gas pedal. The Sonoramic Commando V-8 growls like an angry tiger and leapfrogs us ahead of the traffic.

We even commissioned a smaller pair of these statues for the baggage claim area in the regular lobby. Gives all those Normal conspiracy nuts something to talk about besides the Blue Mustang. They think our statues are the work of Masons or reptilian beings. Ha.

Centuries of perfectly-pitched heartbreak resound through Les' microphone as Stella and I embrace in a slow dance.

My turner Mah'Lor is with me forever as well. At least his head is.

You said you left Mississippi in 1854," Ron says. He turns to Mamuwalde and asks "Were you a runaway slave?" "Not at all," Cindy Lou answers. "Daddy freed him." Ron's jaw almost hits the floor. His wine glass does.

You can't do that, it makes too much sense.

Consider this a one-thousand horsepower divorce, sweetheart

How come they get to be gray-haired and still in love with each other, while Lilly tears out what's left of my heart and dumps it into her Jill-The-Ripper shredder?