Elmo bailed the second he got a girlfriend. Snuffalufagus got hooked on Meth. And Scooter?... well, Scooter'd never really been committed to the band, you know? 
Roger always made a big deal that he liked living alone. He didn't need people. He wasn't weak like that. He was just fine. 
No one ever asked Cheetara about her time on Thundera. There was something... something sad about that. It was hard, you know? When you just wanted someone to ask.
The letter had arrived magically in a burst of fairy glitter and giggles! Of all the little girls in the world, Denver Mackenzie's dream had come true! 
God damn Sassy and her lousy calculations. If their plan was to work at all, the Time Pods would have to be synchronized perfectly.
"Technically, fine, yes, it's impressive. I just... Nigel, look, I'll be frank, I just don't see it as our mascot for the 2012 Games."
You only get your B.S. in Communication Sciences once, thought Blake. Or in his case, twice. But school spirit... that. Was forever. 
It had been Quentin's idea, naturally. They would stay and re-enact the events of that night as many times as it took-- until they discovered the true identity of the Kiddie Kruise Killer.
"N'yeah, my Dad? Um... maybe you've heard of him? Um, Daedalus? N'yeah, he's prolly like way smarter than your dad? N'yeah, I'm pretty sure he is? Cuz like. N'yeah. N' he said? I was like super-gifted? So... n'yeah, so... so suck it."
Quaid couldn't believe his eyes. Could this "Kuato" really be the mastermind behind the Neighborhood Homeowners' Resistence? And could he really trust the word of a mutant?
Fine, eating the poinsettia had just been a cry for help. But this time...? This time they'd be sorry they ever named him Captain Toddlypops. They'd be sorry for a lot of things.
Of course what Paula told everyone was that she dated Michael for his sense of humor. But let's get real. Michael wasn't all that funny.
As Yearbook Editor, it was up to Julian to set an example. Your senior portrait should make a personal statement, and above all, have flair. His did both. With aplomb.
It was the friendships she'd remember most about Camp Winnetonka. The laughter around the campfire, her first kiss, semi-automatic rifle training. The saddest part was always how few of those friends survived.
Whiskers couldn't bare to look at himself in the mirror anymore. It just wasn't the kind of fetish you let people know about.
Why should he feel guilty? A solo career had been the plan all along, and he'd always been the one with star power. Gunther just did what anybody with artistic balls would do: he packed up his accordian and signed with Atlantic. Fuck 'em.
It was true what they said: real Love wasn't anything like a Hollywood movie. Real Love was in quiet moments between lovers. And in whispered promises. And stolen caresses.
Agent Scagget had blended seamlessly into the Lincoln High junior class, but now, nine months in, he faced a nark's worst dilemma: these kids weren't just meth-heads to him anymore. God dammit, they were his best friends.
Well, you know what? She wouldn't give them their money back. Bernie may have conned away billions, but his greatest Ponzi scheme had been stealing her heart. $100 million wasn't so much to ask for in return, now was it?
It was the kind of party trick he only did if somebody asked him to, and somebody always asked him to. One thing was for sure, Bixby never went home alone.
Polly and Kailey had narrowed it down to American Cheese slices. Screw Jinny Metzler's appendix in a jar. This was going to be the best Show-and-Tell ever.
Anywhere else it might have simply been tasteless fun, but here in the chemo ward waiting room? Really? Still... thought Dora, fishing for a quarter.
"Hey Janey. I really wish you didn't smoke weed. You're not the same when you smoke, and... and I miss my friend. I'll be outside. Actually... actually I guess I'll be right here."
Obama was horrified by the CIA report but hardly surprised. They'd all known it was only a matter of time until the Chinese went psycho-kinetic.
The town council had hoped the new campaign of Fiddle-Fudge the Anti-Depressant Gnome would help stop the rash of recent suicides, but inexplicably, it had the opposite effect.
No one had warned Eric that X-Files 2: I Want to Believe sucked so badly that even opening the DVD case could destroy them all.
Gertie didn't come out until after college, but she was pretty sure they'd known all along.
Lord Licorice couldn't help but worry-- what with those goddamn commie Gummies next door and their endless supply of cheap factory labor. 
He'd always accepted his role as "the silent partner," checking in from time-to-time from his private island in the Azores. 
