That red spot!” she says with alarm.“That’s a freckle!”“It wasn’t there before...” she says as she inspects her entire arm.“It’s cute.”“It’s not cute.”“Then it’s mine,” I say. “If you don’t like it, it’s mine. I’ll call it Brady.”“My freckle?”“Yes.”“You’re naming my freckle after yourself?” she says. “And you think I have issues?”“It’s like a star. People buy stars in the constellation and name them after people al the time. As gifts.”“So then are you buying my freckle? Because I don’t know if you can afford my freckle. My freckles don’t come cheap, you know.”“I’ve already claimed it,” I declare. “It’s not up for discussion anymore. Just eat your ice cream. And don’t spill any on Brady.

Gabriel shuffled around the trunk again, searching for faux arrows—arrows designed to injure but not kill. “All these arrows are sharp—and have blood on them.”“Yes, well, I left my cotton candy arrows at home next to my teddy bear.”Gabriel turned to Tristan. “We’re not going to kill that guy.”“We might.”“Tristan, that’s homicide.”“It’s self defense.”“It’s not self defense. He didn’t come after you.”“But he came after Scarlet. And, technically, Scarlet is a piece of me. So, yeah. It’s self-defense. Are you coming with me or not?”“I don’t want to kill him. I just want to hurt him. Or detain him.”“Or maybe you could just give him a big hug.”Tristan started marching into the woods. “You can stay there and clean weapons or whatever, but I’m going after our intruder.

Whenever Elliot Norther’s wife was nervous she baked. With the murder of Harriet Mason, her husband’s close colleague at the Faculty, she had been unable to resist a couple of Victoria sponges. During the frenzied press speculation about the identity of the murderer, a Dundee cake had appeared, followed swiftly by a Battenberg and a Lemon Drizzle. Since news of the Wildencrust murder broke, the kitchen, dining room and study had come to resemble the storerooms of an industrial bakery, every surface heaving with the weight of sponge and cream. Yesterday, having at last been overwhelmed by the fear and rumour that swept the town, she had taken herself off to her mother’s house in Hampstead, leaving her husband to soldier on alone. When he had last seen his wife, Elliot Norther noticed that she had been putting the finishing touches to an impressive, triple-tiered wedding cake, beating a batch of royal icing into a sickly paste.

Anyway.I’m not allowed to watch TV, although I am allowed to rent documentaries that are approved for me, and I can read anything I want. My favorite book is A Brief History of Time, even though I haven’t actually finished it, because the math is incredibly hard and Mom isn’t good at helping me. One of my favorite parts is the beginning of the first chapter, where Stephen Hawking tells about a famous scientist who was giving a lecture about how the earth orbits the sun, and the sun orbits the solar system, and whatever. Then a woman in the back of the room raised her hand and said, “What you have told us is rubbish. The world is really a flat plate supported on the back of a giant tortoise.” So the scientist asked her what the tortoise was standing on. And she said, “But it’s turtles all the way down!”I love that story, because it shows how ignorant people can be. And also because I love tortoises.

My mother made a squeaking sound that might of been either "yes" or "help".Poseidon took it as a yes and came in.Paul was looking back and forth between us, trying to read our expressions.Finally he stepped forward."Hi, I'm Paul Blofis."Poseidon raised an eyebrow and then shook his hand."Blowfish, did you say?""Ah, no. Blofis, actually.""Oh, I see," Poseidon said. "A shame. I quite like blowfish. I am Poseidon.""Poseidon? That's an interesting name.""Yes, I like it. I've gone by other names, but I do prefer Poseidon.""Like the god of the sea.""Very much like that, yes""Well!" My mother interrupted. "Um, were so glad you could drop by. Paul, this is Percy's father.""Ah." Paul nodded, though he didn't look real pleased. "I see."Poseidon smiled at me. "There you are, my boy. And Tyson, hello, son!""Daddy!" Tyson [shouted]...Paul's jaw dropped. He stared at my mother. "Tyson is...""Not mine," she promised. "It's a long story.

J'avoue que je suis quelque peu décontenancée par ce que vous venez de m'apprendre. Venir au monde, ou en tout cas connaître le jour dans un sac à main, qu'il ait des poignées ou non, me semble témoigner d'un mépris des convenances habituelles de la vie de famille qui rappelle les pires excès de la Révolution française. Et je présume que vous savez à quoi a conduit cette malheureuse agitation ? Quant au lieu précis où fut trouvé ce sac à main, une consigne de gare peut dort bien servir à dissimuler un faux-pas et il est probable qu'elle a déjà été utilisée à cette fin ; mais on ne peut guère la considérer comme le fondement assuré d'une position reconnue dans la bonne société."Lady Bracknell, Act I (L'importance d'être Constant)

Something is wrong here. War, disease, death, destruction, hunger, filth, poverty, torture, crime, corruption, and the Ice Capades. Something is definitely wrong. This is not good work. If this is the best God can do, I am not impressed. Results like these do not belong on the résumé of a Supreme Being. This is the kind of shit you'd expect from an office temp with a bad attitude. And just between you and me, in any decently-run universe, this guy would've been out on his all-powerful ass a long time ago. And by the way, I say "this guy", because I firmly believe, looking at these results, that if there is a God, it has to be a man.No woman could or would ever fuck things up like this. So, if there is a God, I think most reasonable people might agree that he's at least incompetent, and maybe, just maybe, doesn't give a shit. Doesn't give a shit, which I admire in a person, and which would explain a lot of these bad results.

The camp offices stood in the centre, adjoining the shrine to Jupiter that held the legion’s Eagle. In the camps of the Vth Macedonica and the VIth Ferrata, these buildings were of grey stone, dressed by Gaulish masons to such smoothness that a man could run his hand down them and not feel the joins.The legions’ respective signs of the bull and the eagle had been carved thereon with such pride and perfection that men copied them on their shields and carved them on the bedheads in the barracks.At Raphana, the camp office of the XIIth Fulminata and IVth Scythians before which we dismounted was built of the local baked mud, and some drunkard with a poor eye for detail had etchedthe Scythians’ sign of the goat and the Fulminata’s crossed thunderbolts together, so that it seemed as if the goat were thunderstruck, or else that lightning grew from its anus. Both applied equally; each was unthinkable in a legion which had any pride in itself.

Pe vremuri, duelul era un privilegiu boieresc. Numai dacă erai nobil din naştere, aveai dreptul să te simţi ofensat şi să tragi cu pistolul ori să scoţi spada din teacă. Astăzi însă are libertatea să se ofenseze oricare cetăţean onorabil. Aici stă progresul: duelul s-a democratizat. Caracteristica duelului democratic stă în lipsa lui de rezultat, garantată prin lege. Şi cu cât omenirea se va civiliza mai tare, cu atât şi duelul va fi mai lipsit de rezultate şi va oferi cetăţenilor o garanţie mai mare de securitate şi de confort.[…]Fiind mai dinainte asigurat că pistolul adversarului nu dă rezultate, domnul care iese pe teren se găseşte în situaţia plăcută a unei cucoane care ştie bine că nu poate să facă copii ― dar tot mai încearcă.

Tayla cursed under her breath. "I was just explaining to Eidolon that Sin is a Smurfette."Wraith swung his big body around to study Sin with blue eyes that were very different from Shade's, E's. and Lore's. Sin's, too. "Nah. Smurfette is way hotter.""What the fuck is a Smurfette?" Eidolon was seriously getting annoyed now."There's this cartoon called The Smurfs," Tayla explained, slowly, as though Eidolon were the child here."They're these little blue people, and they're all male. But one day a female shows up. She shouldn't exist, but she does."Eidolon considered that for a second. "How did she get there?""An evil wizard named Gargamel made her," Tayla said. "In a lab or something.""So you're suggesting that an evil wizard made Sin?""Of course not, silly. I'm just saying she's a Smurfette. A lone female amongst males."Eidolon frowned. "Did the Smurfette mate with the males?""Dude." Wraith grimaced. "It's a cartoon.

You're going to the ball?" Luc asked. "Need an escort?""I appreciate the offer, but I hear it's all the rage to go stag."He raised his eyebrows."Besides, I think your brother might take it amiss.""I thought you two were... taking a break?""I'd like to wait and see. He's only gone for a couple of weeks.""I'll take you," Aidan interrupted again. "I was planning on going, myself.""Dude, I'll take you," echoed Conrad from his seat at the counter."Thanks guys." I had to smile. This for a witch who was quite literally banned from any and all high school dances. "But, really, I sort of like the idea of going solo."Just then we all looked around as the bell on the front door tinkled again, this time announcing the arrival of Inspector Carlos Romero."Blessed goddess!" Bronwyn exclaimed, throwing up her hands. "Don't tell me you're here to ask Lily out as well? I'm beginning to feel like a dueña.""No," Carlos said, looking puzzled.

Since I didn't have a candy wrapper to help me with the bad connection I was about to have, I resorted to using vocal sound effects. When Agent Carson picked up, I started my performance. "Agent... Agent Carson," I said, panting into the phone."Yes, Charley." She seemed unimpressed, but I wasn't about to stop now."I--I know who the kshshshshshsh are.""I'm a little busy right now, Davidson. What is a Ksh, and why do I care?""I'm sorry. My kshshsh... is kshshsh... ing."I repeat. What is a Ksh? And why do I care if it is ksh-ing?"She was a tough one. I knew I should have waited and bought a Butterfinger at the Jug-N-Chug. Those wrappers crakled like Rice Krispies on a Saturday morning. "You aren't listeni--kshshsh.""You're really bad at this.""Bank ro-ksh-ers. I know who they kshshsh.""Charley, if you don't cut this crap out."I hung up and turned off my phone before she could figure out what I was trying not to tell her and call back.

I don't accept the currently fashionable assertion that any view is automatically as worthy of respect as any equal and opposite view. My view is that the moon is made of rock. If someone says to me 'Well, you haven't been there, have you? You haven't seen it for yourself, so my view that it is made of Norwegian Beaver Cheese is equally valid' - then I can't even be bothered to argue. There is such a thing as the burden of proof, and in the case of god, as in the case of the composition of the moon, this has shifted radically. God used to be the best explanation we'd got, and we've now got vastly better ones. God is no longer an explanation of anything, but has instead become something that would itself need an insurmountable amount of explaining. So I don't think that being convinced that there is no god is as irrational or arrogant a point of view as belief that there is. I don't think the matter calls for even-handedness at all.

There was this other apocalypse this one time. And, well, I took off. But this time, I don't... I don't know." "Well, what's different?" "Well, I guess I was kinda new to being around humans before. And now I've seen a lot more, gotten to know people, seen what they're capable of and I guess I just realize how amazingly... screwed up they all are. I mean, really, really screwed up in a monumental fashion." "Oh." "And they have no purpose that unites them, so they just drift around, blundering through life until they die. Which they-they know is coming, yet every single one of them is surprised when it happens to them. They're incapable of thinking about what they want beyond the moment. They kill each other, which is clearly insane, and yet, here's the thing. When it's something that really matters, they fight. I mean, they're lame morons for fighting. But they do. They never... They never quit. And so I guess I will keep fighting, too.

Sion calls Anne an eel, he calls her a slippery dipper from the slime, and he remembers what the cardinal had called her: my serpentine enemy. Sion says, she goes to it with her brother; he says, what, her brother George? ‘Any brother she's got. Those kind keep it in the family. They do filthy French tricks, like –’‘Can you keep your voice down?’ He looks around, as if spies might be swimming by the boat.‘– and that's how she trusts herself she don't give in to Henry, because if she lets him do it and she gets a boy he's, thanks very much, now clear off, girl – so she's oh, Your Highness, I never could allow – because she knows that very night her brother's inside her, licking her up to the lungs, and then he's, excuse me, sister, what shall I do with this big package – she says, oh,don't distress yourself, my lord brother, shove it up the back entry, it'll come to no harm there.