I Love Pity Parties. I Wish I'd

Kill Me, Doug. Just Kill Me Now. Put Me Out Of My Misery.” “christ, Kincaid, What Did You Say To Him?” Murmured Doug. “well,” I Told Doug, “i Ripped On His Fans And On How Long It Takes For His Books To Come Out.” Doug Stared At Me, His Expectations Exceeded. “then I Said—not Knowing Who He Was—that I’d Be Seth Mortensen’s Love Slave In Exchange For Advanced Copies Of His Books.

Conversation Was Irrelevant. Only Pie Mattered.

One Of The Few Downsides To Being Awakened Is That We No Longer Require Sleep; Therefore We Also No Longer Dream. It's A Shame, Because If I Could Dream, I Know I'd Dream About You.

Okay, God, I Thought. Get Me Out Of This And I’ll Stop My Half-assed Church-going Ways. You Got Me Past A Pack Of Strigoi Tonight. I Mean, Trapping That One Between The Doors Really Shouldn't Have Worked, So Clearly You're On Board. Let Me Get Out Of Here, And I’ll...i Don’t Know. Donate Adrian’s Money To The Poor. Get Baptized. Join A Convent. Well, No. Not That Last One.

Immortals Are, By Definition, Immortal. End Of Story.