Matt McLeod

I got it all figured out. We all go next door to the neighbor and you perform some kind of vampire test on him to pronounce him human.

There have been people there for over twenty years and they never complained about any hostile organism.

Lying on your bunk reading What Bike and eating Sugar Puff sandwiches for eight hours every day, is unlikely to qualify.

I'm not interested in Saturn, I said Mars.

He's been on a rambling holiday through the diesel decks, a ten-day hike through the ship's combustion engines.

Mind? Mind? Why should I mind? 300,000 millennia alone while you're in suspended animation. I'll be fine. I'll do that crossword book, that should kill a couple of centuries.

Now that is you there isn't it Bob, on the cover, the Duck of Death?

This isn’t a Weyland ship.

I just happened to be in the neighborhood on a dark and stormy night.

We thank you for allowing us in your court.

I'm trying to tell you that there's a telephone and I pick it up and I dial it, you answer and I say, "Hey what you doing?"

They're coming in, three marks at two ten.

A couple steps back.

But I was going into Tosche Station to pick up some power converters.

First let's get rid of the bug in your head.

I think it must be next door you're wanting strange woman who I've never seen before Mrs. Miggins.

Now how's this motherfucker wake up after thousands of years in the ice?

You are not you. You're me.

You're right, no human being would stack books like this.

Right, now that's present number one hundred and thirteen, another brussels sprout.