Jörgen couldn't explain why watching cities burn gave him a hard-on. All that he knew is that they did.
Sometimes Derek and Joey's cosplay got out of hand, but they always kept the cameras rolling.
"I told you 3g was not enough," Morten croaked back to his friend, and then abandoned himself to the flight.
Among the Albigensians, preparing the mud pit for the Wrasslin' Festival was a special honor.
"I want my baby back, baby back, baby back, baby back ribs, I want my baby
back, baby back, baby back, baby back ribs, Chili's baby back ribs, barbecue sauce."
"Hey, guys, wait up!" shouted Minerva. "Artemis! Hera! You guys!"
—or—
For all her fabled wisdom, Minerva could never figure out why she always lost the chariot races.
"Whatcha doin'? Are you mending nets? Is that what you're doing? That's cool. How'd you learn to do that even? Hey, you wanna go watch the sunset?"
No matter how lonely it got on the mountain, Spiridon mused, he shouldn't have wished that his goat could talk.
Brother Krasomir found that with a few chin-ups on the palm tree, he could train a crow to stick potatoes on its fronds. Oddly, though, no one else in the hermitage found this entertaining.
While life on the road was sometimes fun, Armel often reconsidered his career as a one-man carnival ride attraction.
In retrospect, scheduling the North American Furry Convention in the same venue as the Westminster Pit Bull Barn Hunt Trial was a mistake of tragic proportions.