I Was Crazily, Deeply, Incredibly,

They [erasers] Were Bad Fliers," Angel Chimed In, "and In Their Minds, They Weren't All Kill The Mutants, Like They Usually Are. They Were Like, Remember To Flap!

When Your Own Romantic Life Is Falling Apart, Everyone Else's Looks Fabulous.

And Max, I've Put Some Scraps In A Bowl For Your Dog," Mom Said. "it's On The Floor, By The Back Door." The Flock And I Went Still. Uh-oh, I Thought. Total Stomped Up To Me, His Glare Accusing. "a Bowl On The Floor!" He Seethed. "why Don't You Just Chain Me To A Stake In The Yard And Throw Me A Bone!

Unfortunately, Every Time Someone Said “debriefing,” The Entire Flock Had One Image: Someone’s Tighty-whities Disappearing In A Flash. We Were Smothering Our Giggles, But It Was Getting Harder. Coupled With The Whole “naval This, And Naval That,” With Its Undeniable Belly-button Connotations, We Were Essentially Turning Into A Sugar-jacked, Sleep-deprived Flock Of Incoherent, Silly, Recombinant-dna Goofballs. This Was Not Going To End Well.

Max?” Said The Gasman. “are Those, Um, Rats?” Lovely. “yes, Those Do Appear To Be Either Rats Or Mice On Steroids,” I Said Briskly, Trying Not To Shriek And Climb The Walls Like A Girly-girl.