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Red flag number two: she needed to “concentrate.” The last time that happened, a hole was ripped in the space-time continuum that still hasn’t been repaired.
“Please be quiet. My inner demons are demanding that I kill you, and I want to hear what they have to say.”
“But I did once strangle a man with his own intestines.” Feeling queasy, I say, “How creative.” “Thank you. I thought so.”
“Aye. Is there anything else you need?” “Clothes. My computer. A frontal lobotomy.”
“If you help me, I’ll grant you a favor. One favor. Anything you ask. No conditions.” “Okay. Shoot yourself in the head.”
“You’re shitting me. You have a pet crow?” “Don’t talk about him like he’s not in the room. You’ll hurt his feelings.”
“What did you think when you first saw me?” “That I was about to be featured on an episode of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit.”
“Don’t let him hear you call him dumb. He’ll steal all your shoelaces and make a cape for himself out of them.”
