Nope Funny Quotes

He raised his hand in a peaceful gesture. "You need to relax a bit, dove. Like Mouse over there. You trust me, don't you, Mouse?" "Nope!" "Ahhh, I'm hurt. Nobody likes me.

Tell him if he harms you, I'll scorch the ground where he stands.' 'Oh, for fuck's sake, Tairn.' I roll my eyes and walk to Dain, whose jaw is locked, but his eyes are wide with apprehension. 'Tell him, or I'll take it up with Cath.' 'Tairn says if you harm me, he'll burn you,' I say as dragons to the left and right launch skyward without their riders, headed back to the Vale. But not Tairn. Nope, he's still standing behind me like an overprotective dad. 'I'm not going to harm you, ' Dain snaps. 'Word for word, Silver One.' I blow a breath out slowly. 'Sorry, he actually said, if you harm me, he'll scorch the ground where you stand.' I turn and look over my shoulder. 'Better?' Tairn blinks. Dain keeps his eyes on me, but I see it there, the swirling anger Tairn warned me about. 'I would rather die than harm you, and you know it.

Doode," George said. He'd practiced all morning but still didn't get it quite right. "Nope, more u, less oo. Duuude." "Dude." "Dude." "Okay, dude." George nodded. "How's it hanging?" Jack asked. "How am I supposed to answer that?" George looked at him. "I don't think Kaldar said anything about that. I guess 'good'? I don't get it. What's hanging anyway?" George shook his head. "Your stuff, you nimwit." His stuff...Oh. Ha! "In that case, it's hanging long!" Jack dissolved in giggles. "Long, get it?

I want to do it too!” said Gazzy, sitting very, very quietly, completely motionless. “Nope,” said Nudge, shaking her head. “You stand out like a fart in church.

He bursts into tears, and not some manlike tears either, where you pretend you're brushing something off your face and, incidentally, wipe a tear. Nope. He starts bawling like a kid who spilled his Slushie...

Do you see that man in the black Porsche?" I asked the women. They squinted out at Ranger. "Yes," they said."Your partner." "He's homeless. He's looking for a place to stay and he might be interested in renting Singh's room." Mrs.Apusenja's eyes widened. "We could use the income."She looked at Nonnie and then back at Ranger. "Is he married?" "Nope. He's single. He's a real catch." Connie did something between a gasp and a snort and buried her head back behind the computer. "Thank you for everything." Mrs.Apusenja said. "I suppose you are not such a bad slut. I will go talk to your partner.: "Omigod," Connie said, when the door closed behind the Apusenja's. "Ranger's going to kill you." The Apusenjas stood beside the Porsche, talkig to Ranger for a few long minutes, giving him the big sales pitch. The pitch wound down, Ranger responded, and Mrs. Apusenja looked disappointed. The two women crossed the road and got into the burgundy Escort and quickly drove away. Ranger turned his head in my direction and our eyes met. His expression was still bemused, but this time it was the sort of bemused expression a kid has when he's pulling the wings off a fly. "Uh-Oh,"Connie said. I whipped around and faced Connie. "Quick, give me an FTA. You're backed up, right? For God's sake, give me something fast. I need a reason to stand here until he calms down!" Connie shoved a pile of folders at me. "Pick one. Any one! Oh shit, he's getting out of his car.".... He leaned into me and his lips brushed the shell of my ear. "Feeling playful?" "I don't know what you're talking about." "Watch your back babe. I will get even." -Ranger and Stephanie

On her way to the sink, she says, "Where's Toraf and Rayna? Oh!" She gasps. "Did they find an island?" Galen shakes his head and pours himself some water from a pitcher on the table, grateful for a topic change. "Nope. They're upstairs. He snuck into her bed. I've never seen anyone risk his life like that." Rachel makes a tsking sound as she rinses some dishes. "Why does everyone keep talking about finding an island?" Emma asks, finishing the rest of her juice. "Who else is talking about it?" Galen frowns. "In the living room, I hear Toraf give her a choice between going to the kitchen or finding an island." Galen laughs. "And she picked the kitchen, right?" Emma nods. "What? What's so funny?" "Rayna and Toraf are mated. I guess humans call it married," he says. "Syrena find an island when they're ready to...mate in a physical sense. We can only do that in human form." "Oh. Oh. Um, okay," she says, blushing anew. "I wondered about that. The physical part, I mean. So they're married? Seems like she hates him.

I’m looking for Fat Hoochie Prom Queen,” I declared. He did not respond. “It’s a book,” I said. “Not a person.” Nope. Nothing. “At the very least, can you tell me the author?” He looked at his computer, as if it had some way to speak to me without any typing on his part. “Are you wearing headphones that I can’t see?” I asked. He scratched at the inside of his elbow. “Do you know me?” I persisted. “Did I grind you to a pulp in kindergarten, and are you now getting sadistic pleasure from this petty revenge? Stephen Little, is that you? Is it? I was much younger then, and foolish to have nearly drowned you in that water fountain. In my defense, your prior destruction of my book report was a completely unwarranted act of aggression.” Finally, a response. The information desk clerk shook his shaggy head. “No?” I said. “I am not allowed to disclose the location of Fat Hoochie Prom Queen,” he explained. “Not to you. Not to anyone. And while I am not Stephen Little, you should be ashamed of what you did to him. Ashamed.

Pops gave him a cool stare that settled Tom down - a thing not always easy to do. "Son, do you know what history is?" "Uh...stuff that happened in the past?" "Nope," he said, trying on his canvas change-belt. "History is the collective and ancestral shit of the human race, a great big and ever growing pile of crap. Right now, we're standin at the top of it, but pretty soon we'll be buried under the doodoo of generations yet to come. That's why your folks' clothes look so funny in old photographs, to name but a single example. And, as someone who's destined to buried beneath the shit of your children and grandchildren, I think you should be just a leetle more forgiving.

You still awake?' asked the anesthetist. 'Nope,' I replied.

Scully-' 'I screwed up.' Her hands again. 'Damnit, I screwed up.' 'Nope' [Mulder] said... 'If I was dead, then you would have screwed up.' She saw the grin. 'Then I'd have to haunt you.' 'Mulder that's not funny.' 'But you don't believe in ghosts and goblins...

He looks at the bathtub, where I’m lounging like Cleo-fucking-patra. He looks at the bubbles surrounding my body like a fluffy white cloud. And then he looks at Winston. “Dude,” I blurt out. “It’s not what it looks like.” “Nope, nope, nope, I don’t want to know!” Logan throws his hands in the air and starts backing toward the door as if he accidentally walked into a lion’s den. He halts. Snatches his pants off the rack. Continues backing away. His eyes once again focus on the pink dildo two inches from my hand. I try again. “I promise you, it’s not—” “I don’t want to know.

This is Tez Jones,” I said. “He’s a police detective from Tampa.” “Oh, my,” said Martha, blinking up at him. “Is something wrong?” “Nope,” said Tez, grinning at her and offering a saucy wink. “I’m just the boyfriend.” “Well, then.” She sized him up, and nodded.“It’s about time Elizabeth found someone who deserved her.” “I worship at her dainty feet.

Or Dragos paid the other vacationers to change their plans. She paused to listen to her internal radar. Did she feel funny about that? Nope.

Well, now,” Mrs. Havisham said, all but purring as she leaned forward, ample cleavage on display. “You’ve grown up, haven’t you? Tell me, Gustavo. What are your thoughts on having an experienced lover?” “Not many,” Gus said. “In fact, none at all. Also? I came out when I was thirteen. You were there. As was the whole town. Pastor Tommy announced it at the Fall Harvest Festival. On stage. Into a microphone. There was apple pie afterward.” “Still?” she said with an exaggerated pout. “Yes,” Gus said, deadpan as he could make it. “Still. Funny how that works.” “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me,” she said, dragging a pink fingernail down his arm. “My door is always open. Like my body.” “That’s not even remotely healthy,” Gus said with a sniff. “Maybe that’s why I need your protein,” she said with a wink. “Nope,” Gus said. “Nope, nope, nope.” “You sure about that?” “Maybe you should close that door. And your legs.

You’re sure? I thought I heard someone.” “Nope, not a soul,” Blake said. “Get it. Soul. Because we’re in a church.

He looks at the bathtub, where I’m lounging like Cleo-fucking-patra. He looks at the bubbles surrounding my body like a fluffy white cloud. And then he looks at Winston. “Dude,” I blurt out. “It’s not what it looks like.” “Nope, nope, nope, I don’t want to know!” Logan throws his hands in the air and starts backing toward the door as if he accidentally walked into a lion’s den. He halts. Snatches his pants off the rack. Continues backing away. His eyes once again focus on the pink dildo two inches from my hand. I try again. “I promise you, it’s not—” “I don’t want to know.

Does he ever eat? Nope. Does he sleep during the day and only comes out at night? Yep. Is he so sexy you’d sell your soul to spend just a night with him? Double-yep. What other proof do you need?

In a sec.......let's see if this will help. Once there was a bunny that was very sad cause his ears were long and floppy and he stepped on them all the time." "Like my shoelaces?" "Yep, just like that. One day a beautiful fairy,,,,,,,," "The shoelace fairy?" "Yep. She landed on the bunny's head and.........." "Didn't that hurt? Does she have a wand?" "Nope. She lifted up the bunny's ears and crossed them over like an x." "I can cross my eyes.........look." "Lovely. She put one ear through the bottom of the x and she pulled." "She pulled the bunny's ears..........bad fairy." "No, she was trying to tie his.........." "Dan," Jordan laughed, "Stop. That is the worst thing I've ever heard." "Well, it's better than the teepees and the arrows and crap," Danny huffed. "Can I go see Andy now?" "Yes, go see Andy and his Velcro sneakers," Jordan snickered. "We give up.

That’s a Planeswalker demon.” Dante slumped into the seat behind her. “You aren’t crazy.” Meg slid him a bemused glance. “I thought we’d settled that a few weeks back.”“Nope,” he said,shaking his head. “I was still certain you were loony.”“Then why have you been helping me?”“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, sweetheart, but you have fabulous tits,” Dante said with a sigh. “I figured once you gave up on the whole idea of being queen of the faery world, you might consider sleeping with me. Now I see that demons are real. I’m going to church tomorrow.

Get yourself killed?" she asked with raised eyebrows, reminding me that Donnie had remained silent as I'd predicted. "Nope. Help funny little carnival clowns who are in trouble. Also, his wife hired me. If I don't bring her some kind of explanation, she might not pass the word about how awesome a P.I. I am.

Uh- you shouldn't mock orange if I were you - Why not? *everyone sings* He will He will mock you He will He will mock you *orange starts singing* Hey buddy bannana You live in a habana you small like a cabana but sdon't worry it's gonna be great someday Really? Orange: Nope..Not really *Everyone sings* He will He will mock you He will He will mock you.

All right then, you should know that you missed out on mocha sugar donuts.” My mouth falls open. “How’d you get those? I thought the shop didn’t open that early!” “I went out and got them last night specifically for the bus ride,” Peter says. “For you and me.” Aw. I’m touched. “Well, are there any left?” “Nope. I ate them all.” He looks so smug that I reach out and swat at his hoodie strings. “You creep,” I say, but I mean it affectionately. Peter grabs my hand mid-swat and says, “Wanna hear something funny?” “What?” “I think I started liking you.” I go completely still. Then I pull my hand away from his, and I start to gather my hair into a ponytail, and then I remember I don’t have a hair tie. My heart is thudding in my chest and it’s hard to think all of a sudden. “Stop teasing.” “I’m not teasing. Why do you think I kissed you that day at McClaren’s house back in seventh grade? It’s why I went along with this thing in the first place. I’ve always thought you were cute.” My face feels hot. “In a quirky way.” Peter grins his perfect grin. “So? I guess I must like quirky, then.

(Don’t look at me funny. That’s exactly what the old stories called him: a lame ass-driver. The dude was lame, like crippled. He was leading an ass, like a donkey. What did you think I meant?) Anyway, Psyche thought it was weird to see a crippled dude in a volcanic vent, just hanging out with his ass. (I’m not going to laugh. Nope. Not even a little.) The guy called out to her, “Hello, there, girl! You look kind and helpful. My ass has dropped some of its load…by which, of course, I mean that my donkey has dropped some of the firewood it was carrying. Could you help me gather up these sticks and put them back on my ass?” I guess Aphrodite was testing Psyche to see if she would get distracted by helping the dude. Either that or she was trying to make Psyche laugh so hard she would fall into the chasm.

I arched a brow. “Something funny?” Her mouth formed a tight line. “Nope.” I approached her. “You sure?” Her gaze flicked to mine, then away. “Uh-huh.” “Okay, then.” I turned and headed over to grab the last of our things. “It’s just . . .” Eilish began and then trailed off. “Yes?” She shook her head and finally let her giggles flow free. I couldn’t help smiling, too, even though I wasn’t entirely sure an inconvenient hard-on warranted so much laughter. It was infectious all the same. She gestured to the retreating group of tourists. “I studied German at school, so I can pick out certain words. One of the women commented about you to her friend.” I smirked. “Oh yeah? What did she say?” She dabbed the wetness from the corners of her eyes. “Something along the lines of a bratwurst big enough to feed an army.” My smirk died. “I wish I hadn’t asked.” “Really? I thought men enjoyed compliments about that . . . particular area.” “They do. But armies are generally made up of a bunch of blokes.” I arched a brow meaningfully. A loud burst of laughter escaped her, and she clamped her hand over mouth. God, she was too fucking adorable. She sucked in a breath, finally calming down from her fit of giggles. “You’re too much, Bryan Leech.” “That’s what the German ladies think anyway,” I deadpanned, my smirk returning. Eilish burst into laughter all over again.

Just one thing. . .” Dallas starts. I can tell by the tone that he thinks he’s going to be funny. I turn and look at him, waiting. He’s scrunching up his face. “Him? You picked him?” “Shut up right now if you know what’s good for you.” “I mean, maybe with the lights off, or from far away, maybe, but up close?” he shudders. “That’s it. You’re on lockdown.” He gets on his knees. “Wait! No! I was kidding! I. . .” I hold up a hand. “Nope.” I take my pointer finger and circle my face and torso. “This? All of this? Now off limits.

Let me see your arm, please, Lenzi,” Alden requested after Spook leapt onto the front passenger seat. I held it out, and he pushed up the sleeve of my sweater. He winced. “That’s a lot of threat to fit on one tiny arm. Good thing Smith writes small.” “If that’s a joke, it’s not funny. Tell me it doesn’t need stitches.” I groaned. “Nope. Just antiseptic, holy water, and time to heal.” Maddi looked over Alden’s shoulder. “Aw, that’s nothing. Remember the time he—” Alden cut her off with a glare. “Nice weather we’re having,” Maddi said as she strode to her truck.

Nothing in here except some empty wine bottles,” Red said, opening drawers and cabinets on the hutch. “Wait! I think I found Gaz’s sense of humor.” He held up something small between two fingers. “Nope. Just a withered old piece of fruit.” Gaz had found a small bedchamber at the rear of the room, through the door that Veil had noticed. “If you do find my sense of humor, kill it,” he called from inside. “That will be more merciful than forcing it to deal with your jokes, Red.” “Brightness Shallan thinks they’re funny. Right?” “Anything that annoys Gaz is funny, Red,” she said. “Well, I annoy myself!” Gaz called. (less)

Nous avons ete amies," I added. "There,that's two in French, and using past perfect, no less." I couldn't see his expression clearly. It flet like a long time before he said anything. "Ella..." He paused, then, "What happened? Between you and Anna?" "Other than the fact that I'm a fashion-impaired poor kid who draws doorknobs? Haven't a clue." Alex leaned forward. Now I could see his face. He looked annoyed. "Why do you do that? Diminish yourself?" "I don't-" "Bullshit." I could feel my cheeks flaming, feel my shoulders curving inward. "I don't-" "Right.Don't.Just don't, with me, anyway. I like you better feisty." I couldn't help it; that made me smile. "Did you really just say 'feisty'?" "I did.It's a good word." "It's am old word, favored by granddads and pirates." "Yar," Alex sighed. "Face it.You're just an old-fashioned guy." "Whatever.Three...?" "Three," I said, and changed my mind midthought. "I haven't been able to decide if Willing is the second best thing that ever happened to me, or the second worst." "What are the firsts?" "Nope.Uh-uh.It is not for you to ask, Alexander Bainbridge, but to reveal." He drained his glass and rolled it back and forth between his hands. "I had all these funny admissions planned, but you've screwed up my plans. Hey. Don't go all wounded-wide-eyed on me. It's cute, that Bambi thing you have going, but beside the point.Now I have to rethink." "You don't-" "Quiet.One: My name isn't Alexander." He sat up straight and gave his chest a resounding thump. "Menya zavut Alexei Pavlovich Dillwyn Bainbridge. Not Alexander. I don't think anyone outside my family knows that.

I’m the living dead. I feel no connection to any other human. I have no friends and I don’t really care much about my family any longer. I feel no love for them. I can feel no joy. I’m incapable of feeling physical pleasure. There’s nothing to ever look forward to as a result. I don’t miss anyone or anything. I eat because I feel hunger pangs, but no food tastes like anything I like. I wear a mask when I’m with other people but it’s been slipping lately. I can’t find the energy to hide the heavy weight of survival and its effect on me. I’m exhausted all the time from the effort of just making it through the day. This depression has made a mockery of my memory. It’s in tatters. I have no good memories to sustain me. My past is gone. My present is horrid. My future looks like more of the same. In a way, I’m a man without time. Certainly, there’s no meaning in my life. What meaning can there be without even a millisecond of joy? Ah, scratch that. Let’s even put aside joy and shoot for lower. How about a moment of being content? Nope. Not a chance. I see other people, normal people, who can enjoy themselves. I hear people laughing at something on TV. It makes me cock my head and wonder what that’s like. I’m sure at sometime in my past, I had to have had a wonderful belly laugh. I must have laughed so hard once or twice that my face hurt. Those memories are gone though. Now, the whole concept of “funny” is dead. I stopped going to movies a long time ago. Sitting in a theater crowded with people, every one of them having a better time than you, is incredibly damaging. I wasn’t able to focus for that long anyway. Probably for the best. Sometimes I fear the thought of being normal again. I think I wouldn’t know how to act. How would I handle being able to feel? Gosh it would be nice to feel again. Anything but this terrible, suffocating pain. The sorrow and the misery is so visceral, I find myself clenching my jaw. It physically hurts me. Then I realize that it’s silly to worry about that. You see, in spite of all the meds, the ketamine infusions and other treatments, I’m not getting better. I’m getting worse. I was diagnosed 7 years ago but I’m sure I was suffering for longer. Of course, I can’t remember that, but depression is something that crept up on me. It’s silent and oppressive. I don’t even remember what made me think about going to see someone. But I did and it was a pretty clear diagnosis. So, now what? I keep waking up every morning unfortunately. I don’t fear death any more. That’s for sure. I’ve made some money for the couple of decades I’ve been working and put it away in retirement accounts. I think about how if I was dead that others I once cared for would get that money. Maybe it could at least help them. I don’t know that I’ll ever need it. Even if I don’t end it myself, depression takes a toll on the body. My life expectancy is estimated to be 14 years lower as a result according to the NIH. It won’t be fast enough though. I’m just an empty biological machine that doesn’t know that my soul is gone. My humanity is no more

A woman decides to have a facelift for her 50th birthday. She spends $15,000 and feels pretty good about the results. On her way home, she stops at a news stand to buy a newspaper. Before leaving, she says to the clerk, "I hope you don’t mind my asking, but how old do you think I am?" "About 32," is the reply. "Nope! I’m exactly 50," the woman says happily. A little while later she goes into McDonald’s and asks the counter girl the very same question. The girl replies, "I’d guess about 29." The woman replies with a big smile, "Nope, I’m 50." Now she’s feeling really good about herself. She stops in a drug store on her way down the street. She goes up to the counter to get some mints and asks the clerk this burning question. The clerk responds, "Oh, I’d say 30." Again she proudly responds, "I’m 50, but thank you!" While waiting for the bus to go home, she asks an old man waiting next to her the same question. He replies, "I’m 78 and my eyesight is going. Although, when I was young, there was a sure-fire way to tell how old a woman was. If you permit me to put my hands under your bra, then, and only then can I tell you EXACTLY how old you are." They wait in silence on the empty street until her curiosity gets the best of her. She finally blurts out, "What the hell, go ahead." He slips both of his hands under her blouse and begins to feel around very slowly and carefully. He bounces and weighs each breast and he gently pinches each nipple. He pushes her breasts together and rubs them against each other. After a couple of minutes of this, she says, "Okay, okay...How old am I?" He completes one last squeeze of her breasts, removes his hands, and says, " Ma dam, you are 50." Stunned and amazed, the woman says, "That was incredible, how could you tell?" The old man says, "Promise you won’t get mad?" "I promise I won’t," she says. "I was behind you in McDonald’s.

I enlarge the photo again. Nope, too blurry

Dad shakes his head. “Nope. His name start with an F.” He snaps his fingers. “Floyd. That’s it. When I picked you up from school, I overheard you say how much you like him, and miss him, and . . .” Then my brother and I start laughing so hard we practically hyperventilate. Dad shrugs. “What? I know I’m clueless, but you’ve got to tell me what’s so funny.” “Floyd is Karma’s phone,” says Toby, who’s clutching his stomach because he’s laughing so hard. My

she happened to pass a lame ass-driver. (Don’t look at me funny. That’s exactly what the old stories called him: a lame ass-driver. The dude was lame, like crippled. He was leading an ass, like a donkey. What did you think I meant?) Anyway, Psyche thought it was weird to see a crippled dude in a volcanic vent, just hanging out with his ass. (I’m not going to laugh. Nope. Not even a little.) The guy called out to her, “Hello, there, girl! You look kind and helpful. My ass has dropped some of its load…by which, of course, I mean that my donkey has dropped some of the firewood it was carrying. Could

The idea of putting raisins in cookies originated with my microscope. 'Chocolate chips? Nope! I'm using dehydrated grapes instead.

two or ALL the puppies if I could’ve. But whatever, it was just cool to have puppies in the mall. My sister’s gonna FREAK when I tell her about it. Anyways, Fergus and Annie returned to our tournament table with the biggest plate of nachos I’d ever seen in my whole entire life, so me and Emma went and joined them. The four of us dug into the towering mountain of chips and cheese and chicken and onions and queso and tomatoes and salsa and sour cream and guac and jalapenos and O.M.CHEESE, it was SO good! I filled my belly with warm food and then sat back, watching all the people around the tournament having fun. What a great start to a weekend full of friends, puppies, and video games. I mean, seriously, everything was PERFECT, and there wasn’t a single thing that could change that… And immediately, Annie goes, “It was stolen,” but she didn’t know that! Isn’t it funny how some people go to the worst-case scenario first? That’s called “catastrophic thinking” and helps ABSOLUTELY NOBODY in times of stress. So, until we had more details, I thought it best to simply call the camera “missing.” I ran up to Callie, HOPING that maybe she had taken the camera to a Lost & Found box somewhere inside Hacktronics, but nope. Apparently, they didn’t have one. Not good. That meant somebody MIGHT have stolen it. I went to the other players in the tournament and asked if THEY saw anything suspicious, but nobody did! I just couldn’t believe it! How was it possible that NOBODY saw some fool GANK an $800 camera?? That doesn’t even make any sense! Fergus had completely shut down. Annie was angry at me. And Emma was just caught in the middle of it, sitting there, like, “Awkwaaaaaard.” Then, outta nowhere, Annie let me have it. She shouted a bunch of stuff at me that weren’t the kindest things ever, but I fixed all that through the MAGIC of editing…

My Friend to Me: - He: Call/text me when you are on your way. Me: Potassium He: WTF? Autocorrect get yaw? Me: Nope on the periodic table, the symbol for potassium is K.☺

As you can probably guess, Wild Man likes sex. He likes a lot of sex. Doesn’t matter where we are, what we’re doing, or the time of day. If he becomes randy, he pounces. Take yesterday for instance, while we were out picking berries. I was down on my knees trying to reach a nice juicy patch of plump blackberries. Of course, I was naked—he still refuses to give me clothes, the bastard—so my wiggling bare ass was up in the air. The next thing I knew, big hands were gripping my hips and pulling me back, angling me where he wanted me. I knew what was coming, and I opened my mouth to tell him I wasn’t ready—seriously, who would be while picking berries and getting poked by thorns—but my protest died on a cry of sharp pain. No preparation. He just went for it as usual. And I was as dry as Sister Mary. So the sudden intrusion wasn’t comfortable in the slightest, and I couldn’t imagine it was much better for him. Did he care, though? Nope. He just kept going, banging me as hard as he could. Thankfully—or not thankfully, depending on how you look at it—it didn’t take long to get my juices flowing. That’s what happens when you’re unbelievably attracted to the man who’s holding you captive. Your body gives your mind a big fuck you, along with the middle finger, and takes what it wants, even begging for more or to go faster, harder. Another time, we were walking back from taking a bath. I was admiring a patch of pretty flowers and telling Wild Man a funny story about Rika. I was laughing and having a surprisingly good time, when my hips were suddenly caught in his hard grip. I was shoved over a large boulder, my breasts pressed against the abrasive surface. Then he mounted me from behind and fucked me silly. That time, I was wet. He had just fucked me in the water, and I still had part of him leaking out of me.

You don’t have to do that.” I waved a hand in the hair. “It’s fine.” “Nope. Not fine. Opposite of fine. Poor? Ineffective? Not well?” He closed his eyes and scratched his forehead. “Not good.” “Okay, grumpy-pants, you’re funny when you’re drunk.

But Psyche made the journey with nothing but two rice cakes and a couple of drachmas. And she did it while she was seven months pregnant. Respect. As she was climbing down the narrow ledges inside the volcanic fissure, she happened to pass a lame ass-driver. (Don’t look at me funny. That’s exactly what the old stories called him: a lame ass-driver. The dude was lame, like crippled. He was leading an ass, like a donkey. What did you think I meant?) Anyway, Psyche thought it was weird to see a crippled dude in a volcanic vent, just hanging out with his ass. (I’m not going to laugh. Nope. Not even a little.)

Winnie, don't you ever think you're selling yourself short?" "Nope. Never. I'm really good at picking quality dick.

Oh God, I’ve unleashed a monster, haven’t I?” “Nope. Just a red-blooded man, darlin’.

It was quite common for households in towns like mine to have BB rifles, commonly called slug guns. These were air rifles that shot very tiny soft lead pellets called slugs. They weren’t that lethal unless you shot at very close range, but they could blind you if you got shot in the eye. Most teenagers had them to control pests like rats, or to stun rabbits. However, most kids used them to shoot empty beer cans lined up on the back fence, practising their aim for the day they were old enough to purchase a serious firearm. Fortunately, a law banning guns was introduced in Australia in 1996 after thirty-five innocent people were shot with a semi-automatic weapon in a mass shooting in Tasmania. The crazy shooter must have had a slug gun when he was a teenager. But this was pre-1996. And my brothers, of course, loved shooting. My cousin Billy, who was sixteen years old at the time – twice my age – came to visit one Christmas holiday from Adelaide. He loved coming to the outback and getting feral with the rest of us. He also enjoyed hitting those empty beer cans with the slug gun. Billy wasn’t the best shooter. His hand-eye coordination was poor, and I was always convinced he needed to wear glasses. Most of the slugs he shot either hit the fence or went off into the universe somewhere. The small size of the beer cans frustrated him, so he was on the lookout for a bigger target. Sure enough, my brothers quickly pushed me forward and shouted, ‘Here, shoot Betty!’ Billy laughed, but loved the idea. ‘Brett, stand back a bit and spread your legs. I’ll shoot between them just for fun.’ Basically, he saw me as an easy target, and I wasn’t going to argue with a teenager who had a weapon in his hand. I naively thought it could be a fun game with my siblings and cousin; perhaps we could take turns. So, like a magician’s assistant, I complied and spread my skinny young legs as far apart as an eight-year-old could, fully confident he would hit the dust between them . . . Nope. He didn’t. He shot my leg, and it wasn’t fun. Birds burst out of all the surrounding trees – not from the sound of the gunshot, but from my piercing shriek of pain. While I rolled around on the ground, screaming in agony, clutching my bleeding shin, my brothers were screaming with laughter. I even heard one of them shout, ‘Shoot him while he’s down!’ Who needs enemies when you have that kind of brotherly love? No one rushed to help; they simply moved to the back fence to line up the cans for another round. I crawled inside the house with blood dripping down my leg, seeking Mum, the nurse, to patch me up. To this day, I have a scar on my leg as a souvenir from that incident . . . and I still think Billy needed glasses. I also still get very anxious when anyone asks me to spread my legs.

He tips my face up with a gentle finger under my chin. “Can I kiss you?” I shake my head, but his lips are so close to mine that I can feel his breath. “Why not?” he asks. I push to the edge of the couch, because I really need to get away from him. If not, I’m going to let him kiss me. And I’m not going to want to stop. But when I move to get up, he wraps an arm around my waist and hauls me back onto his lap. I freeze, because my weight is on his good leg. “S-stop. I’m g-going to h-hurt you.” I don’t have anywhere to tap. He says softly but firmly, “I’ll let you know if it hurts.” With a gentle push of his hand in the center of my back, he brings me down to lie on his front, and my breasts squash against his hard chest muscles. God, I don’t think there’s anything soft about him. He palms my hip and hitches me closer and higher, bringing my lips to his. “A-all of my w-weight is on y-you,” I stammer. I close my eyes and take a breath. “I know, and it’s kind of awesome.” He smiles. “And so is hearing you talk.” “W-we’ve b-been t-talking all night.” “Not the same,” he whispers. “I’ll take what I can get, but I’d rather have you, exactly like this. Except naked, maybe.” He chuckles. I’m already naked. He just doesn’t realize it. I put my hands against his chest so I can push back, but he takes my fingers, threads them with his, palm to palm, and holds tight. “Kiss me.” I shake my head. “C’mon,” he teases. I want to kiss him. I want to kiss him so bad. “You know you want to.” He grins. I’ve kissed him before. Hell, I’ve passed him a condom before. But we never went any further. “You’ve never kissed me. You know that?” He lays his head back against the couch and looks at me from beneath lowered lashes. “I h-have so,” I sputter. “Nope,” he corrects me. “It was always me kissing you.” I’m certain I’ve kissed him before. “Kiss me,” he says again. He jostles me with a bump of his leg beneath my bottom. “Don’t make me beg.” He laughs, but it’s not funny. I

The next day, Billy Grizzwold came over to Sister at recess. “Can I ask you something?” he said. “I guess so,” said Sister. “Could we sit together at the assembly tomorrow?” “You won’t bring any worms or toads?” “Nope,” said Billy. “I promise.” “Okay,” said Sister. So the next day, Billy and Sister sat together at assembly. He brought her a flower. It was a daisy. Sister forgot all about Herbie Cubbison. And that afternoon, Sister pressed Billy’s daisy in a book.

In honor of the new-guy-cooks rule, I made breakfast for the crew on C shift. A Mexican egg skillet, my specialty. I was on probation—the probie. Even though I was five years into the job, I was only five shifts into this station. That meant I was the last one to sit down to eat and the first one to get up and do dishes. I was practically a servant. They had me cleaning toilets and changing sheets. All the grunt work. Sloan and Kristen opted to help me, and Brandon took pity on me, so they all stood in the kitchen wiping counters and scraping food off plates while I washed the dishes and Shawn and Javier played cribbage at the table. Kristen had glared all through the meal, but only when she didn’t think anyone was watching. It was kind of funny, actually. I kept ribbing her. From what I gathered through my prodding, she’d told everyone the shirt was her boyfriend’s. I wasn’t going to say anything. Brandon didn’t need to have the thunder stolen from his new truck by learning it had already been defiled, but I was drawing untold amounts of enjoyment from giving Kristen shit. And she didn’t take any of it lying down either. She matched me tit for tat. “So, Josh, you drive the fire truck, huh?” Kristen asked casually, wiping down the stove. “I do.” I smiled. “Are you any good at it? No problems stopping that thing when you need to?” She cocked her head. “Nope. As long as someone doesn’t slam on the brakes in front of me, I’m good.” Glare. Smirk. Repeat. And Sloan and Brandon were oblivious. It was the most fun I’d had in weeks. Sloan handed me the cutting board to wash. “You’ll be walking Kristen down the aisle at the wedding.” She smiled at her friend. “She’s my maid of honor.” “I hope you walk better than you drive,” Kristen mumbled under her breath.

Relax, Mitch. I'll get us there in one piece. After we jump the chasm of death, we're home free." "Funny," he deadpanned. "I don't suppose you have another helmet?" "Nope. But if we do crash, I'll aim for the right side to even out your injuries." He gave her a wry grin. “Enduring poor attempts at humour is better than being dead.” Night Vision

1. You catch him looking at you in class. Did you just happen to lock eyes five times during a test recently? Unless you had the answers written on the side of your face, it’s because he’s TOTALLY INTO YOU! 2. He pauses a lot when he’s talking to you. It’s probably not because he’s a super-slow thinker. It’s because he wants to say the right things because he’s TOTALLY INTO YOU! 3. He drops things a lot when he talks to you. It’s not because he has some kind of disease that makes him tremor 24/7. He’s just nervous because he’s TOTALLY INTO YOU! 4. He asks your friends stuff about you. I know, I know, he could be completing an English assignment to write about all the girls in school. OR maybe it’s the way more obvious answer . . . He’s TOTALLY INTO YOU! 5. He laughs at your jokes, even the silly ones. That knock-knock joke you busted out in class? Nope, not funny! It’s just that he’s TOTALLY INTO YOU! 6. He defends you against CCPs. Remember when that evil girl said something obnoxious, like, “Could you’re shirt be more ugly?” And he was all like, “I think it’s kind of cool.” He’s not just REALLY into girls’ fashion. It’s just that he’s TOTALLY INTO YOU! What do you think . . . good stuff? If your crush likes you too, how did you find out?