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After a geological epoch passed in which single-celled organisms evolved into talk show hosts, Mr. Coffee was still holding out on me.

Darynda Jones

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Darynda Jones
Age: 59
Author
Novelist
Writer
Friona
Texas
Passed
Celled
Coffee
Geological
Single
Hosts
Talk
Epoch
Show
Evolved
Shows
Organisms
Stills
Host
Still
Holding

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I noticed you tore down Donovan's house. He lifted his gaze until it locked with mine. He's alive because he left town. His house chose to stay. It paid the price.
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Pretending to drink coffee was similar to faking an orgasm.
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I went down like a drunken cowgirl trying to line dance to Metallica.
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I shifted in my chair as Dad waited for a response. He seemed determined, his resolve unwavering. This would take tact. Prudence. Possibly Milk Duds. “Are you psychotic?” I asked, realizing my plan to charm and bribe him if need be flew out the window the minute I opened my mouth.
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Before I tell you, I have to know three things, I said. Okay. One, are you sitting down? Yes. Two, are you mentally stable? More than you'll ever be. Well, that was uncalled for. And three, how do you spell schizophrenia? What does that have to do with anything? Nothing. I just wanted to see if you'd tell me.
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That boy needs a hobby. Stalking is a hobby. So is serial killing.
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The police never find it as funny as you do.-T-Shirt
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You’re just using me for my body.” “You don’t have a body,” I’d remind him. “Throw that in my face.” “Technically, you don’t have a face either.
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I did that thing where you scratch your eyebrow and flip someone off at the same time. I'm good at multitasking like that.
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Cookie had taken her daughter amber to school then walked the thirty-something feet to work earlier. Our business was on the second floor of Calamity's, my dad's bar, which sat right in front of our apartment building. The short commute was nice and rarely invloved rabid raccoons.
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My real mom died when I was born—hemorrhaged to death while giving birth to me, which has never been one of my favorite memories—and Dad married Denise before I’d turned a year. Without even asking my opinion on the matter. Denise and I never really clicked.
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When fighting clowns, always go for the juggler.
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God I loved Sammy. I’d considered marrying him, but his wife got upset when I asked for his hand.
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If I was going to go out tonight, I was going to go out fighting. Or screaming in agony. Either way.
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Glitch was about as wild and unpredictable as a carrot stick.
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Reyes Farrow. Because perfection is a dirty job, but someone has to do it.
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What's your specialty? Oh, you know. Madness. Mayhem. Debauchery. And even with all that going for me, I can still make a mean mojito.
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Friends don't let friends get killed by serial killers
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He bombarded me with words, of all things, apparently clueless to the fact that the predawn hours rendered me incapable of coherent thought.
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Hey, I'm going to Super Dog for a quick bite and to pass along a message from a dead guy to his girlfriend. You should come with me. I can't go with you. Is it because of my questionable morals? No, it's because it's three o'clock in the afternoon and I have to pick up Amber from school. Oh, right. So the morals thing doesn't bothe
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