…if I'm going to be connected to you, I'm going to be connected to *you*— crooked teeth and lightning bolts, birthmarks and bent dicks, whatever you've got, I'm okay with it. And I need you to be okay with me, because most of the things that I don't like about my prison of flesh aren't
“In a certain light, wouldn’t nuclear war be exciting?” he said. There I was, on what would turn out to be the middle of a long string of Scruff dates that would lead nowhere but a weekday drinking habit. He was in the Navy, maybe an officer if I remember correctly (which, I probably don’t).