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The funny thing about GPS was it didn’t always send you in the right direction. I knew that if I took a right and took Twelfth instead, I’d get there faster, so I turned right. Ozzy did not approve. “Wut the foock?

Darynda Jones

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Darynda Jones
Age: 59
Author
Novelist
Writer
Friona
Texas
Right
Faster
Thing
Direction
Always
Turned
Took
Instead
Twelfth
Knew
Ozzy
Funny
Approve
Didn
Send

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Can I brush your hair?” she asked as she led the way, her disposition doing a 180 on a dime. Kids. Can’t live with ’em. Can’t eat ’em for lunch.
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When fighting clowns, always go for the juggler.
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Man, I want to be someone's forbidden fruit. Well, you are pretty fruity.
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Maybe I needed sensitivity training. I once signed up for an anger management class, but the instructor pissed me off.
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Pretending to drink coffee was similar to faking an orgasm.
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There is nothing to fear but fear itself. And spiders. ~Bumper sticker~
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I’m Charlotte Davidson: private investigator, police consultant, all -around badass. Or I could’ve been a badass, had I stuck with those lessons in mixed martial arts. I was only in that class to learn how to kill people with paper.
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I may not have any skeletons in my closet, but I do have a little box of souls in my sock drawer. —T-SHIRT
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She still wasn't convinced. So, if you were a guy, would you be into me? Hon, if I were a guy, I'd be gay. Yeah, me, too.
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He had given me so much information, I wanted some time to absorb it all, but I didn't want to leave him. Not like this. Not ever, as long as I lived. Or until I had to get back on the case. Whichever came first.
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.. an emergency stash of Thin Mints. Frickin' Girl Scouts. Those things were way to addictive. They had to be laced with crack. Charlie Davidson Fourth Grave Beneath my Feet
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Rocket, I said, straightening in the chair. Donovan was just helping me with my contacts. Donovan raised his brows humorously. Rocket furrowed his. Did you swallow them?
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I often question my sanity. Occasionally, it replies.
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He’d actually hit me! It didn’t matter that hitting me wasn’t really like hitting a regular girl and I’d be completely healed in a matter of hours. I was still a freaking girl, and he damned well knew it. I’d just have to hit him back. With a lead pipe. Or an eighteen-wheeler.
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Who knew that all this time the nectar of the Gods was in my va-jay-jay.
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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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I like to see the glass as half full, hopefully of jack daniels.
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You take everything onto your shoulders like that guy who holds up the world, and you shouldn’t. You’re not nearly as muscular.
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I climbed into Misery and called Uncle Bob. “We hooking up?” “Why does everything out of your mouth make me sound incestuous?” “Um, I wasn’t aware that it did. Perhaps you have a guilty conscience.” “Charley.” “Is there something you need to get off your chest? Besides that skank I saw you with the other day?
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