But We Can't Go Back. We Can

Oh, Hello," Dr. M Says, Shaking Balder's Hand. "wonderful Costume. I'm A Bit Of A Role Player Myself On The Weekends. Tell Me, Where Did You Get The Helmet?" It Was Forged In The North, Blessed By The Hands Of Odin, Given To Me By My Mother, Frigg," Balder Answers. Lovely. I Got Mine On The Internet.

I'm Going To Eviscerate You And Leave Your Organs On A Pike In The Yard As A Warning To Those Who Wear Large Jewelry.

...i Do Have To Wonder What Sort Of Childhood The Grimm Brothers Endured. They Are Not A Merry Bunch Of Storytellers, What With Their Children Roasted By Witches, Maidens Poisoned By Old Crones, And Whatnot.

I’m Not Interested In Being Polite. It’s False.

You Are Working Up To Mr. Fantastic Fiction Levels Of Zombie Expert, Which Is Like Playing Guitar Hero On Some Level That Actually Melts The Guitar Controller, Burning Your Fingers With Searing Hot Plastic Till You Scream In Pain. Only With Words. And Zombies.