I'm The Last Of The Mad Ones.

The English Play Hockey In Any Weather. Thunder, Lightning, Plague Of Locusts... Nothing Can Stop The Hockey. Do Not Fight The Hockey, For The Hockey Will Win.

Because Talent Alone Doesn't Make An Artist

She Was Standing In The Airport Of Copenhagen, Staring At A Doorway, Trying To Figure Out If It Was (a) A Bathroom And (b) What Kind Of Bathroom It Was. The Door Merely Said H. Was She An H? Was H "hers"? It Could Just As Easily Be "his". Or "helicopter Room: Not A Bathroom At All

The Locker At The End Of Her Bed Had No Lock, And One Of The Hinges Was Busted. She Opened It Up. There Was A Thing In It. The Thing Might Have Been A Sandwich At Some Point, Or An Animal, Or A Human Hand...but What It Was Now Was Fuzzy And Putrid. A Minute Later, Ginny Was Down The Stairs, Out The Door, And Gone.

We Deveauxs Preferred To Talk You To Death, Rather Than Face You In Physical Combat.