Daniel Younger > Daniel's Quotes

“Also fun fact for you Americans: in Canada, the practice of Thanksgiving is celebrated with the slaying of a sacred moose. Once killed, the moose is slathered in maple syrup, apologized to excessively, then roasted over a bed of Maple Leafs ™ until crispy on the outside and succulent on the inside. The meat is then dispersed by carrier goose and beaver to all of our country’s people, and our dashing Prime Minister does a naked pagan dance around the flayed carcass, shouting “Hoser!” until his throat’s raw.

We’re very serious about Thanksgiving in Canada, Eh?”
― Daniel Younger

“Statistical fact: cops will never pull over a man in a sweet van
if he’s carrying forty pounds of sinsemilla buds. Another fact:
ninety percent of all statistics are made up.”
― Daniel Younger

“Mack Gaffey, resident veterinarian and owner of Oak Falls Kennel for the Canine Challenged came to greet him. He was a tall, painfully thin man with a tuft of wiry gray hair sticking out in horns on his head and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses.
“Sheriff, glad you could make it.” They shook hands.
“Alright Mack,” Al said. “So you’ve had yourself some vandalism, huh?”
Mack nodded and lead him around his white GMC. On hood of the van was a fogged-up ZipLock bag. “Some sicko took a dump on my van.”
Mack held up the bag so Al could see the giant, steaming turd inside. “It’s human shit, Al. I did the tests this morning.”
The sheriff frowned and started wiping the hand he shook Mack’s with against his pants. “Well, this stinks.”
“You should smell it out of the bag, Sheriff.”
― Daniel Younger, Zen and the Art of Cannibalism: A Zomedy

“There are probably more of us. If we’re all zombies, then
there’s got to be more. I say we go up to the cemetery and find out.”
“Can we get soda on the way?”
Nothing washes down brains better than a can of Coca Cola and a little shameless product placement. (Hey, the undead do have an image problem.)
“Soda and cemeteries! Soda and cemeteries!” they chanted. “And braaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiins!”
“Hey Bernie, you’re getting pretty good at that.”
“Okay, you try.”
“Braaa—” the zombie belched, ”—aiiinsss.”
Earl heaved the coroner’s body out of the way. They headed off for the cemetery, each trying furiously to perfect their own, unique and personal call for brains like an undead choir, out of tune.
“Braaaaiiiiins!” “Braaiiiiiiiinns!” “Braaaaaaaaaains!” “Bray-uns.”
“That was just awful.” ...Away into the night.”
― Daniel Younger, Zen and the Art of Cannibalism: A Zomedy

“Tell me again why I have a beaten up Noah on my futon?” Ava said. She indeed had a beaten-up Noah resting on her couch, bandages and gauze over his nose, an icepack on his brow.
Wiz, Hal, and Travis sat around him, cups of coffee and homemade croissants steaming on the table. Ava stood with her hands on her hips, her brow expressing a pressing need for answers.
“I got beaten up,” Noah said, sounding like he had the worst head cold in history.”
― Daniel Younger, Zen and the Art of Cannibalism: A Zomedy

“Little is known about the love lives of the undead. Really, past the brain-eating, reanimated corpse angle, not much is said for the zombie’s perspective. So they ate brains—big deal! Sure, they were corpses—so what? Indeed, there was the smell, but whose fault was that?
At first glance they were brain-hungry cannibals, (Mmm, brains. Maybe with a little cilantro or a garlic rub—mashed potatoes and brainsloaf—brains pot pie—penne a la brains...) but in reality, zombies were not the mindless man-eaters or virus-addled lunatics jonesing for human flesh depicted in the movies. Just like everything in life—or rather, unlife—things were more complicated. Zombies were, until very recently, people. And with that came wants, desires, longings. Needs.
Asher had been troubled by the zombie loneliness until Brenda, the attractive corpse he’d met in a less animated state earlier, pulled him into the cemetery, threw him down on a slab and shagged him silly.”
― Daniel Younger, Zen and the Art of Cannibalism: A Zomedy

“So, if the zombies are coming to town, why exactly are we coming back here?”
“Don’t call them that.”
“But they are—“
“No, they’re not. They’re mutants or science gone awry or
something. Anything but zombies.” “How would that be better?”
― Daniel Younger, Zen and the Art of Cannibalism: A Zomedy

“If there’s anything in life that’s an undisputed fact, it’s this: Buildings with strange symbols carved in their lintels are bad news. You rarely find symbols leading to unicorns and fields of candy—and even that’s bad news if you’re diabetic.”
― Daniel Younger, Zen and the Art of Cannibalism: A Zomedy

“The goblin Vince swung at Noah as the Baron came bounding into the tavern, riding a shadow like a skateboard, his sword swiping viciously. The axe rattled to the floor. The old one’s head sailed through the air. The body staggered, exploring the tarry stump of its neck, then toppled over.
“That was totally uncalled for!” the goblin’s head said from the floor.”
― Daniel Younger, Zen and the Art of Cannibalism: A Zomedy

“Life isn’t easy. Would that every story ended happily, every crisis be averted, everything get a pretty shiny bow, but that’s not the world we live in. Life is harsh. Things go wrong, People get hurt, and some even die. That’s just the way it goes.”
― Daniel Younger, Zen and the Art of Cannibalism: A Zomedy

“It would take a good amount of work, a considerable amount of patience, and an unfathomable amount of foot rubs, but in the end—at least for a while—they lived happily.”
― Daniel Younger, Zen and the Art of Cannibalism: A Zomedy

“Here you found a homeless guy wearing a decade’s patina of grime and sweat, in for trying to beat up a dumpster (and losing); a street performer coated from head to toe in metallic spray paint, caught trying to fondle a nine-year old; two Elvis impersonators of the pudgy era, apprehended in the midst of a fistfight over who was the real deal (tidbit: one of them was); and a gaggle of drunks in a holding cell, all in varying stages of undress—one of whom wore only a traffic pylon on his head.”
― Daniel Younger, The Wrath of Con

“If you’re looking for good Mexican food in Vegas, you go to the Arts District. Jonesing for stupidly overpriced jeans or a rhine- stone T-shirt? The Fashion Show Mall has you covered. How about some quiet contemplation over that lost trust fund? Lake Mead’s your man. Maybe getting stabbed, shot, or beaten to death is your thing, so head on up to North Vegas. But, if you’re looking for a snapshot of city history, a reasonably affordable libation, and the rare sensation of getting squeezed through a kaleidoscope’s poop chute, then you can’t beat Fremont.”
― Daniel Younger, The Wrath of Con

“You’re loading the deck. You’re wasted. And I’m ninety-percent sure you’re Irish—tell me, why would I trust you?”
Quinn thought about it. The man had a point—well, several. “Because you like my accent?”
― Daniel Younger, The Wrath of Con

“As she told them, Brie was relieved to see them both as con-
fused by the story as she was—but less relieved by which parts they focused on:
“Freak cougar accident,” Kev said with a grin.
Paul tried to put it together. “Well, was it his wife or some- thing? It happens.”
“No, I mean it was a literal cougar. I tried to leave with the cash, but this dick caught me and arrested me.”
“I’m sorry. Cougars? Dicks? Are you sure you’re being literal?”
“I mean a literal cougar and a detective. Yeesh, you guys have complete gutter-mind. Anyway, I’m headed out again tonight. We’ll have the whole thing cleared up by morning.”
― Daniel Younger, The Wrath of Con

“The Flamingo Casino is a slice of Vegas legacy. It’s kind of where it all started. With a reputation steeped in infamy, it’s the place tourists go hoping to spot some vestige of the mafia in the glitzy city. And time after time, they go in, poke around, and come out saying: “Well that’s totally not what I expected—hey look, naked bronze chicks!”
― Daniel Younger, The Wrath of Con

“I’m only doing one more,” Ruby said, scrolling through her phone. “Nobody likes a day-drunk hussie.”
“Hey, give yourself some credit. You’ll be a really cute day- drunk hussie.”
― Daniel Younger, The Wrath of Con

“No matter who you asked, the answer was always the same: Ferret was an irredeemable bag of cat shit.”
― Daniel Younger, The Wrath of Con

“She waited. She waited so excruciatingly long that she could physically feel the time pass; a binding in her chest, her breath shallow and raspy. Silence seemed to stuff itself in her ears like cotton balls.”
― Daniel Younger, The Wrath of Con

“She overslept, was rude to her barista at Starbucks, and had an inexplicable craving for Baskin Robbins. She moped. She pouted. And even though she’d hexed a man to fawn over her, repeatedly going, “Hey, you look familiar, can I buy you a drink?” with no recollection of the ten previous times he’d done it, she found no pleasure in the hijinks. She was in a funk. It bothered her.”
― Daniel Younger, The Wrath of Con

“Well, pumpkin, if you’d stop hiring boozehounds with a hard-on for Marlowe, someone might get the job done.”
― Daniel Younger, The Wrath of Con

“There is a weird kind of anonymity a roller coaster provides: It’s populated, but everyone’s too preoccupied with whirling around the roof of a casino to eavesdrop. It runs a fixed amount of time, has minimal surveillance for lack of a way to descramble the audio, and it’s conveniently out of earshot for certain writer- types who might scribble down the plan.”
― Daniel Younger, The Wrath of Con

“Good threat,” the woman chuckled. “Here’s mine: you’ve got about twenty minutes to hightail it over to Venetian before your brother becomes a memory wrote in pink mist. Toodles.”
― Daniel Younger, The Wrath of Con

“Look, the point is, tiny fire-breathing dinosaur, stacked up against a doofus not-so-ninja turtle and an overgrown iguana with a flower on his back—practical shit aside, he’s clearly the ace choice.”
― Daniel Younger, The Wrath of Con

“A little-known fact: Next to nothing is impossible. Actually, nothing itself is impossible. Nothing is the absence of all things. But that absence is, itself, a thing, and—well, the logic’s so screwy you could uncork a wine bottle with it.
The point is, most of the stuff people say is impossible is not at all impossible. Starting a car that’s already started, that’s im- possible. Traveling to where you are is impossible. Sleeping through Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up” is impossible (and so is listening to it).
And that’s the list. Taking a neon-blue dump? Well... You’d think, but really it’s just improbable.
To sum up a wildly unmanageable concept: most things we call impossible are actually just things that require more effort than we’re willing to give. And even when it comes to impossible, it’s really only the Rick Astley that nobody will try if they’re given a few slices of pizza.”
― Daniel Younger, The Wrath of Con