“OK, let me get this straight, he wants to pay 1.2 million for my heart. He’s not sick or anything is he?...I’m no athlete, I’m forty pounds overweight, I smoked for twenty years and…personal reasons? No, that doesn’t cut it. I’d lay down my life to save another’s but this is just too bizarre. He wants to buy my life…excuse me, heart, I’d get a transplant, I know--…what I want is…LOOK! I’m not going to consider it unless I know why!...oh, you don’t understand…sure, later then.”

“What’d he say?”

“His client wants my heart because he thinks Jesus lives there.”

christ on a crutch...

“Here’s another one,” Goldstein grunted, slapping the paper onto the desk.

Levy rolled his eyes. “Chapter 13?”

“Worse. Court ordered Chapter 7. We won’t get bubkis out of this one.”

“We need to pick up the pace, Goldstein. We’re already two months behind on the quota.”

“Umm. Wouldn’t we be more successful if we changed the contract a bit?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“I don’t mean to kvetch, but why don’t we start charging monetary interest on our loans instead?”

“Don’t be such a meshugeneh! ‘A Pound of Flesh’ is our motto here at Abrams, Abraham and Shylock.”

“Agatha, my darling!”

“Reginald? You’re alive? But how?”

“I don’t fully comprehend it myself, my love.”

“The doctors all said you were dead, my sweet Reginald. Oh, your hands are so cold.”

“All I know is that I awoke suddenly in a dark room. I was drawn hence, nay, compelled to seek you out.”

“Reginald, before you were accosted by that beastly man in the street, you asked me a question. I say to you now, at this miraculous moment: yes! You have my heart, my very soul!”

“Agatha, at this moment,” Reginald said, drooling, “I only want your brain.”

She sends me emails, telling me how her day is going and what she did last night. And how much fun I would have had with her.

She leaves messages on my phone, wondering why I won’t return her calls anymore.

She drives by my house at least twice a day, slowing her car down and reclining her seat so she is harder to see in the vehicle. I worry for the safety of my wife, children and pets.

She wants my heart, which is already pledged to another. After ten years you would think she would get the message.

David, dude, loving the zombies

I think I've invented a new genre: the Jane Austin-esque Victorian zombie story.

"Pride and Prejudice Against the Living Dead"

If only I didn't already have a story in mind for NaNoWriMo.

"Why Mr Darcy, are you ill? Can't you speak? Don't toy with my emotions please Mr Darcy I am a fragile womaa-aaaaAAARRRGHH!!!"

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