I Don't Like Lollipops.

Grab Some Caviar From The Kitchen. You Wouldn't Believe The Muck They Feed Us In Bartleby's For Ten Thousand A Term.

Chaos Reigned, And The Survivalists Eagerly Unwrapped The Kidskin From Their Crossbows. Phase One Of Opal's Plan Was Complete.

We're Being Lead By An Idiot With A Crayon.

Why Can't I Solve This Problem By Killing Someone? She Though Petulantly, Then Comforted Herself With The Mantra That Had Kept Her Going In Prison: "soon All The Humans Will Be Dead," She Said, Droning In The Time-honored Fashion Of Gurus Everywhere. "and Then Opal Will Be Loved." And Even If I'm Not Loved, She Thought, At Least All The Humans Will Be Dead.

I'm Right There With You, Darlin'. Unless You Step On A Landmine, In Which Case I'm Way Back In The Operations Room.