The diagnostic said there was nothing wrong with the threep, which may have meant there was something wrong with the diagnostic.
That thing looks like H. P. Lovecraft’s panic attack.
It was stupidly perfect how all my problems were suddenly solved with the strategic application of money.
Well, aren’t you a massive prick,” I said, quietly, under the roar of the helicopter. “What?” Sanders asked. “I said, ‘That’s a nifty trick.
You have no idea how difficult it was for me to not say, ‘Welcome to Jurassic Park!’ to all of you just now.
It’s okay if we turned entire cities full of people into nuclear ash, but the idea of monsters having a nibble afterward was just too much.
It was a very cozy meeting. In addition to my role as visitor liaison, I was also, once again, supervising snacks.
You seem tense,” Kahurangi said to them. “Of course I’m tense,” Niamh snapped back. “We have a stupid plan.” “You’re just saying this because it’s my plan.” “I’m not just saying it because it’s your plan, and also, yes.
The last Gold Team geologist decided to retire after we basically had to reattach a limb. For a second time.” “Oh.” “Well, that’s not completely accurate. It wasn’t the same limb twice. They were different limbs.
It’s not the trees, you dense argumentative spoon.
Firebomb the place,” Laertes said, from the room he and Brent shared, where he was playing a video game. “No one’s firebombing anything,” Brent yelled back to Laertes. “Yet,” Laertes replied. “You can’t firebomb your way out of every problem,” Brent said. “You can’t,” Laertes called back.
KPS is not, and I say this with absolutely no slight intended, a brooding symphony of a novel. It’s a pop song. It’s meant to be light and catchy, with three minutes of hooks and choruses for you to sing along with, and then you’re done and you go on with your day, hopefully with a smile on your face. I had fun writing this, and I needed to have fun writing this. We all need a pop song from time to time, particularly after a stretch of darkness.
Sometimes I don’t know if my life is complicated, or if it’s that I just think too much about things.
Bennett was silent for a minute, considering. “Offering to actually help me,” he said. “No one’s tried that tactic before. Very sneaky.” “We try,” I said.
There aren’t a lot of people who can carry off petty,” I said. “Yet somehow you do.
So we’re the monster police, too,” I said to Tom. “Correct,” he replied. “The only real question is, who are the monsters?
The only real question is, who are the monsters?” “They ask that question in every monster movie, you know. It’s an actual trope.” “I know,” Tom said. “What does it say about us that it’s relevant every single time they ask it?
How long do you think it will take them to get a transport here?” I asked. “Are you kidding?” Dad said. “If they didn’t send for one the second I was done talking to them, I’ll eat my hat.” “You don’t wear a hat,” I said. “I will buy a hat and eat it, then,” Dad said.
Angrily consume your bacon on the toilet, is my advice.
I can’t tell if you’re joking with me,” I said. “I’m mostly joking with you.” “That ‘mostly’ is doing a lot of work in that sentence.
Humans, being intermediary creatures in both time and space, did not fully appreciate the value of life at every physical and temporal scale.