If This Book Exists, You're in the Wrong Universe (John Dies at the End, #4)

by Jason Pargin

It was a skill one could acquire with practice, the way mechanics can tell what repairs your car needs just by looking at how expensive your shoes are.

New slang doesn’t come from straight white dudes, and it definitely doesn’t come from you.

it’s the sound of an adult human reduced to infancy, the universe suddenly such a terrifying and treacherous place that the only reaction is to utterly abandon dignity and howl at it with all your mind, body, and air.

Starting a club and locking out new members, basking in the cruel joy of seeing a sad nose pressed to the window.

Cars must feel like this when you drive them to the dealership to shop for their replacement.

There’s nothing spooky or dramatic about them, so I suppose I could just skip this part, but you know what? Fuck it, I’m going to eat a giant pretzel, and you’re going to read about it.

Being a teenager means feeling like you’re alone; getting older means realizing you never were.”

“Again, leave that to us,” said John, who once got a casserole recipe so wrong that his kitchen exploded.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” said Gracie. “LOOK! THE BIRD!”