Because My Heat Was Too Full Of

Loud Ringing Noises, I've Discovered, Upset Mr.peepers.

I Don't Give Books As Gifts. Books Are Extremely Personal, And I Would Hate To Give Someone A Book That They Don't Like Or Want, Because It Would Break My Heart If They Didn't Read It.

Bite Me, Harry Potter.

My Shoulders Sagged. Really, Is It Too Much To Ask That I Be Able To Come Home From A Long Day Of Work And Relax? Oh, No. I Have To Come Home And Read A Bunch Of Letters Written To The Love Of My Life By His Fiancée, Who, If I Am Correct, Had Him Killed A Hundred And Fifty Years Ago. Then, As If That Is Not Bad Enough, He Wants Me To Explain The Vietnam War.

How Is It That I'd Nearly Been Smothered To Death, And Yet I Could Sit There And Notice Things Like My Stepbrother's Abdominal Muscles A Few Minutes Later?