Serial Mom Quotes

Think: who has vans, huh? Soccer moms and serial killers.

I'm a sociopath, Mom, I don't love anybody. By definition.' 'Is that an implicit threat?' 'Oh, for the-! No, it was not a threat, Okay, I'm leaving.

Being really good at something you shouldn't be doing doesn't make it any better," Mom said. "It's a history class," I said, "and serial killers are a part of history. So are wars and racism and genocide. I guess I forgot to sign up for the 'happy stuff only' history class, sorry about that.

Anyone in your family not a killer? (Syd) After this I’m beginning to wonder if I don’t have a serial mom. (Steele) I wish. She should have beaten you to death with a turkey leg. (Tina)

You're a punk?' 'What?' 'What do they call people from the eighties?' I asked. 'Oh,' she laughed. It was a beautiful laugh. 'I'm my mother, actually. I mean, these are her clothes from High School. I guess I should tell people I'm Cyndi Lauper though, or something, because dressing up as your mother is pretty lame.' 'I almost dressed up as my mother,' I said, 'but I was worried what my therapist would say.' She laughed again, and I realized that she thought I was joking. It was probably for the best, since telling her the second half of my mom costume - a giant fake butcher knife through the head - would probably freak her out.

This is the part of the horror film where you yell at the girl on the screen,'Don't *go*. You idiot! Don't go! Why are they always so stupid?' Cam *told* her mom he could be a serial killer.

What?” “You’re smiling like Mom at a New Kids On The Block concert.

Uh, because he could be a serial killer?” “A serial killer with a sense of humor, a rescue dog, lifelong friends, and a relationship with his mom?

Then there would be many long minutes of commercials, mostly for products to keep one’s bowels sleek, followed by filmed reports on regional murders, house fires, light airplane crashes, multiple car pile-ups on the Boulder Highway and other bits of local carnage, always with film of mangled vehicles, charred houses, bodies under blankets, and a group of children standing on the fringes, waving happily at the cameras and saying hi to their moms. It may only have been my imagination, but I would almost swear that it was the same children in every report. Perhaps American violence had bred a new kind of person – the serial witness

I didn’t know how to explain what I meant; sociopathy wasn’t just being emotionally deaf, it was being emotionally mute, too. I felt like the characters on our muted TV, waving their hands and screaming and never saying a word out loud. It was like Mom and I spoke completely different languages, and communication was impossible.

I smiled. Mom laughed, shaking her head. “That’s the punchline? Why is that even funny?” “It’s the Pythagorean theorem,” said Lauren. “It’s a math formula for . . . something.” “Right triangles,” I said, and looked pointedly at Margaret. “I told you I’d already done geometry.

I feel like I grew up afraid of so many things," I said. "There's just so much uncertainty in life, especially when you're a kid . . . you don't know why your dad is upset, or why your mom puts up with it, or whether you'll ever have a true friend you could talk to. It sounds twisted, but by the time I was a teenager, there was something almost comforting about reading about serial killers. It was like, here, be afraid of this. Focus on this. There's uncertainty, and open questions, but it'll all get wrapped up at the end. Justice will be served, the victims will be remembered, whatever. It was only when I started reading and rereading some of those books more closely that I started questioning what justice meant, or truth, or even fear.

Plus, I was still pining over poor, deceased, Quarterback-Chris. Just kidding! Quarterback-Chris had apparently been less than faithful to me during our two year relationship and after things with the government, army and general world went to hell, Quarterback-Chris tried to eat me! So I did what any loving, devoted girlfriend that just found out she had been serially cheated on by her now zombie boyfriend would do. I plunged a butcher knife into his eye socket and when that didn’t effectively do the job, I drove over him with my mom’s Escalade until his head detached from his body.

Once we’re on the bus, I realize my parents and Charlene have no idea where I am. I pull my phone out, turn it on, and check my texts. There are twenty-seven. Alex sent fifteen between four in the afternoon and just prior to the start of the game. The rest are from my mom and Charlene. Having checked before I left for the Great White North, I discovered roaming charges were super expensive, hence the reason I shut my phone off. I quickly shoot a text to Charlene and one to my mom to let them know I haven’t been kidnapped by a serial killer. The plan is to meet up with everyone at the bar to celebrate the win. When I’ve finished texting, I look over at Alex. He’s staring at me. “Why didn’t you respond to any of my messages today?” He sounds like I kicked his pet beaver. “Do you have any idea how expensive the roaming charges are in Canada? It doesn’t even make sense. Canada’s kind of like a huge state in the north. I know it’s a commonwealth and all, but wouldn’t it be more convenient if we had the same money and government?” Alex’s mouth hangs open. I fear I may have insulted him. “Every text I send costs seventy-five cents outside of the US, and I didn’t buy a package. I figured I’d see you soon enough, and if I sent you messages I’d tell you I was coming, and I wanted it to be a surprise.” “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say any of that shit about Canada being an extension of the US, Violet. I know you don’t mean that.” Ooooh, I definitely offended him. I’ll bring it up again later. It would be the perfect way to get him all riled up before we get naked. He might smack my ass for it. Interestingly enough, the possibility gets me a little excited.

You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how.’ Let me introduce myself. I’m River. I’m your current boyfriend. Cross my heart and hope to die—not really, but you know what I mean. There are three things about you that caught my attention: First, you’re smart, too smart for me, but for some reason, you don’t care. Two, if you had wings, they’d be the colors of the rainbow. Three, you touch me, and I have peace. You’re a River-whisperer. Dad told me to take care of Mom, be a good brother to Rae, and wait for Anastasia. He somehow knew you were mine. Where are you from? Apparently, everywhere. Do you know how cool I think you are? Growing up moving around must have been hard, but it created a woman who looks at someone and sees underneath to the parts others don’t. What are you doing after this? I hope after this night, in the future, we’ll be together, in some city, crazy in love. Please tell me you’re single. You aren’t single, Anastasia. You’re mine. Also… I’m not a serial killer. True. Or an alien. (People in Walker really dig that stuff.) True. Or a player. I had my moments. Or a douchebag. Again, had some moments. Or a dick. Okay…maybe once or twice. I’m just the guy in front of you on a snow-covered mountain, baring his soul to the most beautiful girl in the world. You have dreams and I get it. I’ll wait for you forever. No matter how long it takes for us to come back to a place where we can be together for real. Your first reaction to this note may be to run as far as you can, but you only live once, and we can’t lose what we have. Fate has a way of bringing people together, and, baby girl, we’re meant to be. Kappa Boy AKA River Tate AKA Snake AKA Fake River AKA Anastasia’s Man

Nothing,” said Margaret. “So there once was an Indian chief with three daughters, or squaws. All the braves in the tribe wanted to marry them, so he decided to hold a contest—all the braves would go out hunting, and the three who brought back the best hides would get to marry his squaws.” “Everyone knows this one,” said Lauren, rolling her eyes. “I don’t,” said Mom. I didn’t either. “Then I’ll keep going,” said Margaret, smiling, “and don’t you dare give it away. So anyway, all the braves went out, and after a long time they started to come back with wolf hides and rabbit hides and things like that. The chief was unimpressed. Then one day, a brave came back with a hide from a grizzly bear, which is pretty amazing, so the chief let him marry his youngest daughter. Then the next guy came back with a hide from a polar bear, which is even more amazing, so the chief let him marry his middle daughter. They waited and waited, and finally the last brave came back with the hide from a hippopotamus.” “A hippopotamus?” asked Mom. “I thought this was in North America.” “It is,” said Margaret, “that’s why a hippopotamus hide was so great. It was the most amazing hide the tribe had ever seen, and the chief let that brave marry his oldest and most beautiful daughter.” “She’s two minutes older than I am,” said Mom, glancing at me with a mock sneer. “Never lets me forget it.” “Stop interrupting,” said Margaret, “this is the best part. The squaws and the braves got married, and a year later they all had children—the youngest squaw had one son, the middle squaw had one son, and the oldest squaw had two sons.” She paused dramatically, and we stared at her for a moment, waiting. Lauren laughed. “Is there a punchline?” I asked. Lauren and Margaret said it in unison: “The sons of the squaw of the hippopotamus are equal to the sons of the squaws of the other two hides.

The go-to is your parents. You know they are not serial killers. They want to see their grandchild, and you don't want to pay anyone. The perfect situation! The problem is, when you are not paying someone to do a favor for you, they don't really need to listen to you. . . Also your mom and dad are crazy. They raised you, and you are a disaster! By letting them watch your kids, you are giving them free rein to replicate their mistakes.

I feel like i grew up afraid of so many things. There's just so much uncertainty in life, especially when you're a kid... you don't know why your dad is upset, or why your mom puts up with it, or whether you'll ever have a true friend you could talk to. It sounds twisted, but by the time I was a teenager, there was something almost comforting about reading about serial killers. It was like, here, be afraid of this. Focus on this. There's uncertainty, and open question, but it'll all get wrapped up at the end. Justice will be served, the victims will be remembered, whatever.

Was he thinking serial killer? She was but did not want to voice that opinion yet. This was different and the same. Very much the same as Gail and Charlie, her mother’s superiors, made inferior by Arleen’s knife. Her mom’s killing streak ran for twelve years, and would have continued indefinitely, if she had not taken Nadine’s classmate. Right after Nadine had told her mom that Sandra was terrorizing her, the high school senior went missing.

Mom was the most unlikely serial killer in existence. Hell, even if she’d had the desire, she wouldn’t have had the energy. She was still working two jobs then and she’d come home and fall asleep on the couch most days.

nodded my understanding. What more could I really expect? Besides... what would I even say to her, given the chance? Sorry my psychopathic serial-killer, stalker uncle held you captive and... Yeah. Maybe not. But at least she was alive. That was something, wasn't it? We'd saved one of his victims. Yet all I could think about was how many more we'd failed for taking so long to stop him—how many other women he might have killed in the years he'd stalked me and my mom. How the hell was I ever going to get past this?

By Saturday night we still didn’t have Jeb’s body. Mom and I ate dinner quietly, letting the shared pizza and the noise of the TV substitute for the companionship and conversation of a real relationship. The Simpsons was on, but I wasn’t really watching—I wanted that body. If the police kept it much longer, we wouldn’t be able to embalm it at all, just seal it in a bag and hold a closed-casket funeral.

The writer Lester was talking about. I remember him. Edgely or Edley or something like that. Wrote some sick horror shit; Mom always thought he must be a serial killer.” “Oh, that guy!” Chelsea snapped her fingers too. “The property just past Bighead Rock?

I’ve told you about this. It was fucking hot. Not just a little bit. Not uncomfortable-hot, but kill-you-hot.” “You’ve told me, but I like how you get so defensive every time you talk about it. It’s sexy when men have a weakness.” “And women have to save me from it?” “It’s what we’ve been doing since the beginning of time, my invincible star warrior.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, encouraging him to smile. “I was raised to believe that men were the providers and could never show vulnerabilities. We have to be the pillar of strength, the bedrock on which the family is built,” he tried to explain. “But if you know that isn’t true, why do you persist?” “It’s not an easy habit to break,” he admitted. “I’m trying. Give me that much, and as long as you and Rivka keep reminding me, we’ll get to where it will be second nature. And then if we ever have kids, we’ll raise them differently. Mom and Dad, out there side by side blasting the ever-living shit out of bad guys.” Lindy chuckled. “Nice image.” She met Red’s eyes and looked deeply into them. “Weren’t you the one who said the men had the women outnumbered on Peacekeeper? You, Chaz, Hamlet, Ankh, and Erasmus. Something like that. Five to three. ‘We are manly men!’” Red liked the way Lindy’s eyes sparkled when she was giving him a hard time. She was making a valid point, though. He had said those very words. “Hamlet is the manliest of us all. That cat doesn’t give a shit.” “And what’s this bit about kids? I’m not even sure I’ll let you be my boyfriend.” He brushed the hair from beside her eye and tucked it behind her ear. With the tip of his finger, he slowly and lightly traced the outside of Lindy’s ear.

When the kids were little, she and Zoe had been friends with another mom in the neighborhood, and this lady’s kid was so horrible that they both mentioned it to her, that he seemed like a miniature serial killer in training, and she stopped speaking to them. Pretty soon she moved out of the neighborhood, and Elizabeth guessed it was to move closer to whatever prison facility her son was bound to wind up in. People just didn’t want to hear it.

I dashed down the narrow steps. When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I turned into the hallway and came up short. A lumberjack was standing there. Or at least, that’s what he looked like. A really young, really hot lumberjack. He was tall and broad, with midnight black hair that curled around his ears and across his brow, creating the perfect frame for his startling blue eyes. He was wearing an unbuttoned red plaid flannel shirt that was so thick it was almost a jacket. Beneath that he wore a black turtleneck sweater. He was turned slightly so I couldn’t see his other hand. Lumberjacks carried axes. I had a flashback to The Shining. My heart hammered against my ribs. I didn’t know this guy. Who was he? And where was Mom? He grinned. “Hey.” “Who are you?” I snapped, jerking the sides of my robe together and tying the sash. His eyebrows shot up. “Most people I know respond to a greeting with another greeting.” “Well, I’m not someone you know, am I? For all I know you’re a serial killer.” He chuckled. How could anyone chuckle in the morning? “Do I look like a serial killer?” he asked. I guessed not, but still… “What are you doing here?” I demanded. “Your mom hired my dad to do some repairs. They’re in the kitchen discussing details.” “So you just decided to make yourself at home?” He narrowed his eyes. “Your mom said I could look around. I’ve never been in this house before, but it’s always interested me because of the turrets. I have this thing for turrets. I’m Josh Wynter, by the way.” “And do you become Josh Summer in June?” I asked.

Baby, do you have any questions for Calvin?” I took a bite and ignored her question. “Anything at all?” “Hmm, let’s see,” I said, pretending to think hard. “Are you a serial killer?” “No,” Calvin said, widening his stare. Mr. Rivera chuckled next to me and Mom pursed her lips. “Rapist?” “Of course not!” “Married?” “No.” “Homosex—” “That's enough, Baby,” Mom snapped. She took a moment to compose herself and then said, “I meant serious questions.” “In my defense, none of those questions were intended jokingly.

But on the other hand, it wouldn’t be the most shocking thing in the world. It wouldn’t be like finding out, I don’t know, that my mom is a serial killer.