Karen ⚜Mess⚜

“His Majesty needs a can-I girl anyway. And I'm not it."
"A can-I girl?" Andrea frowned.

I leaned back. "'Can I fetch your food, Your Majesty? Can I tell you how strong and mighty you are, Your Majesty? Can I pick your fleas, Your Majesty? Can I kiss your ass, Your Majesty? Can I..."

It dawned on me that Raphael was sitting very still. Frozen, like a statue, his gaze fixed on the point above my head. "He's standing behind me, isn't he?"

Andrea nodded slowly.

"Technically it should be 'may I'," Curran said, his voice deeper than I remembered. "Since you're asking for permission."

Why me?

"To answer your question, yes, you may kiss my ass. Normally I prefer maintain my personal space, but you're a Friend of the Pack and your services have proven useful once or twice. I strive to accommodate the wishes of persons friendly to my people. My only question is, would kissing my ass be obeisance, grooming, or foreplay?”
― Ilona Andrews, Magic Strikes

“I went down like a drunken cowgirl trying to line dance to Metallica.”
― Darynda Jones, First Grave on the Right

“We are not going to die."

Butters stared up at me, pale, his eyes terrified. "We're not?"

"No. And do you know why?" He shook his head. "Because Thomas is too pretty to die. And because I'm too stubborn to die." I hauled on the shirt even harder. "And most of all because tomorrow is Oktoberfest, Butters, and polka will never die.”
― Jim Butcher, Dead Beat

“Horror, let's face it, is basically pretty dumb. You're writing about events that are preposterous, and the trick is to dress them up in language so compelling that the reader doesn't care.”
― T.E.D. Klein, Seeing Red