Q: Is grandma an adverb?

A: For the fifth and final time, your grandmother is a noun. A noun with feelings. A living, breathing, dying, decaying, wilting, judgmental, evil noun. A noun who sacrificed her life to make my dreams come true. When those dreams turned out to be little more than standing on the street corner yelling at cars with out-of-state plates and whistling at the girls from the girl's school as they walked home, she sacrificed her life to make your dreams come true. When your dreams turned out to be little more than throwing empty beer cans at cars with out-of-state-plates and exposing yourself to the mannequins at Kohls, she switched gears and began sacrificing chickens and goats and stray cats and mail-order brides and rare plants she grew in her garden in the alley in the hope that she might summon some long-forgotten god who would punish us for our wicked ways.

Your grandmother is a noun. And it's about time you started showing her a little respect.

No, not right now. I didn't mean drop everything and start paying her respect this instant. She's edgy today and any attempt at respect will be misinterpreted as an attack. Then it's pepper spray and throwing stars and the bolo with the wire dipped in broken glass. I just hosed down the deck this morning. I'm not doing the same work twice in one day. No, we can pay our respects later, once she's been bound and  sedated and put back in her cage.

Oh. Boy. She must have been listening. She's perking up now and it looks like she's talking to some of her rats. That's never good. Those conversations never result in a a rat pyramid or an all-rat reenactment of the famous Stanford-Cal kick return. Those conversations always end in murder by rat. One time I'd like to see them try something new. The rats are so creative and she's really holding them back.

They're coming now. And grandma's shouting, "Murder!" Damn, she even made a sign.

I guess this is it. One of us should create a diversion and the other one should run down the block and finish the Mad-Lib. At least one of us should be mildly entertained. We'll shoot for it. Paper. Rock. Scissors.

Ready? One. Two. Three. Shoo-

And you're running away.
And here come the rats.
They are so well organized.

Q: Do guinea pigs sleep in cages or aquariums?

A: When guinea pigs sleep, they sleep in cages or aquariums or laundry baskets or between couch cushions or baseball gloves or piles of unread literary journals.

That's when they sleep. When they're not sleeping they can be found in shoes and Christmas trees and showers and washing machines and serving bowls and at the gun range  and inside cooked turkeys about to be sliced for Thanksgiving and in car engines that won't start and standing outside your bedroom door at 3AM and building a couch fort in your hallway while the fire rages.

They sleep about 3 hours a day. I spend the other 21 hours praying that they fall asleep. Seldom are my prayers answered. Nor my letters begging for help from the police. It seems the pigs have learned to read.

No wonder that lab offered them to me so cheap. And why the scientists laughed when I drove away. And why that one scientist, a lady, tracked me down a mile from the lab, looked into my eyes and said, "Your life is in danger." I thought she was criticizing my driving. You know how dramatic lady scientists can be.                  

Q: What is the coldest city and temperature currently in the us?

A: It has to be where I am right now, on the balcony of my suite at the Radisson Hotel  in Nashville. I've only been out here a couple minutes and I am already freezing. I have never been this cold. I cannot stop shivering. I can't feel my feet. Or my legs. Or my hands really. Much of the below neck portion of my body is pretty numb.

This sudden cold front is rather strange. A few minutes ago it was sweltering. Sticky sweaty hot. So hot I was naked. With a woman. In the bed of my suite at the Radisson Hotel in Nashville. We had the air conditioning set to 65 but we were still sweating. And panting. Occasionally moaning. It was pretty damn hot.

Then some guy walks in the room yelling some stuff about being her husband and watching us all day and having enough evidence to win a fortune in the divorce. I couldn't make out most of what he was saying. We had the TV up real loud. And the woman was laughing pretty hard. Something about her pre-nup. The husband's face went red. He was hot, too. Everyone was hot. It was like an oven in there. Why is it so cold now?

I know I heard something popping. Five or six loud pops, like firecrackers. Then I got even hotter. Warm burning down in my stomach. Someone must have pushed me because I fell through the sliding glass door. I had no idea it was so cold out here. I wish I had grabbed my robe.

I hope I don't freeze to death out here. I've really never been this cold. I'm sure the nice lady in there will bring me out some blankets. Just as soon as she gets through making up with her husband. They're such a lovely couple. I'm glad to see them work things out.

Q: Do you have to pay outstanding debt if in jail for murder?

A: That's a really great question. Do you have a problem with the knives you ordered? They're high quality knives, made from the finest German steel, and you seem to take such glee in sharpening them.

No problem with the knives. Just don't feel like paying for them? Is that it?

Okay.

That's really a question above my pay grade. I'm with Collections. That sounds like a problem for Legal. I'll be happy to pass your question over to them. Just as soon as I slowly back out of your home.

By the way, when you ordered those knives, did you happen to also order our DVD series "How to Become a Champion Knife Thrower in 8 Days"?

Q: Does iron burn?

A: Sure does. Like the fires of hell.

Hot stuff. Hot.

Iron is an excellent conductor of heat. Once it gets hot, you shouldn't even touch it. One second will melt the skin off your hands. Two will sear muscle.

I'm starting to think I made a mistake installing a flame-thrower on my iron exo-skeleton. I'm cooking in here. The smell of roasting human flesh is less delicious than I imagined. I'm starting to wonder if I was right about anything.

Q: What is a lions effect on man?

A: Before I had a lion, I had a wife, I had kids, I had a house, a nice one with three and half bathrooms, enough for everyone to use at once.  I had an important job, as an executive for a growing advertising company. I wooed clients, recruited writers and artists. I wore a suit to work, except on Fridays when I wore a designer jeans and a blazer. I had an expense account.

My son, Reggie, wanted the lion. He talked me into it. He said all the other kids in his class had exotic pets, Mike had an iguana, Tyler's parents bought him an emu, Jake got a orangutan for his 12th birthday. Reggie looked at me, tears in his eyes, snot in his nose, with a quivering lip, and asked "Don't you love me, Dad? Is that why you won't buy me a lion?"

I didn't love him. He had been an accident. My therapist told me I could never let the boy know, not ever, not for any reason, no matter what he did or said, no matter how much he disappointed me, no matter how often his presence reminded me of the beach house in Maui I could not afford thanks to his need for food and shelter and private education.

I bought him a lion. He named it Emmet. I thought that would be the end of it, and I could go back to ignoring him and dismissing his questions with a nod of the head, a raise of the eyebrows, by saying, "That's great, Reg. Daddy's busy."

When I bought Reggie the lion I bought three hundred pounds of ground beef. I thought that was the end of it. The lion ate the beef in four days. On the fifth day Reggie asked me to buy more food. I nodded my head. I raised my eyebrows. I said, "That's great, Reg. Daddy's busy." I finished my drink. I searched the internet for pictures of college girls posing in bathroom mirrors. I was not busy. I did not buy more food.

On the sixth day the lion ate Reggie. On the seventh day the lion ate my wife and my other children. On the eighth day my company's accountant questioned me about my expense account. Had I really bought 300 pounds of ground beef? Had I really bought a lion? I nodded my head, raised my eyebrows and told him I was busy.

On the ninth day I lost my expense account. On the afternoon of the ninth day, I lost my job. I still have the lion. He's stayed with me through it all, through the toughest time in my life. I wouldn't be where I am today without this lion. They say a dog is man's best friend. They lie. Man's best friend is a lion. I've never been so happy in my life. Although that may be shock. The lion took a big chunk out of my thigh a minute ago. Looks like he's coming back for more.

Q: How can you use corpse in a sentence?

A: I just did:

Your partner is a corpse.

That's what I said a minute ago. Then you smiled and nodded and I thought you understood and you'd stop crying and stop kissing her and I wouldn't have to back away slowly and run.

But then you got this blank look on your face, this far away look like you could see right through me, through everything, that look made me want to back away slowly and run and run until my legs gave out, but I didn't because I knew you'd catch me, and you asked what corpse means and I smiled because I thought you were joking and I pointed to your partner, dead on the ground.

But you didn't smile or laugh or seem to understand what I was saying, and then you asked again what corpse means and I said "a dead body" and you asked me to use in a sentence and I said "Your partner is a corpse" and now you asked again and I'm kind of at a loss for words.

Your partner is dead. She is a corpse. She is that corpse. That's why she's not happy to see you. That's why she can't hug you back. Stop trying to force her arms. Rigor mortis makes them too stiff.

I'm guessing you haven't been a detective that long. And I'm guessing you and your partner had a relationship that was more than professional. That probably makes her death hard to accept. If it were up to me, you could stay there holding her and crying all day. But it's not up to me. We have a crime scene to process. I need you to step away from the corpse so I can take her down to the morgue for an autopsy.

You probably don't want me to explain what autopsy means.

Q: What is break down voltage?

A: Oh, hello, RoboCrab. I didn't see you there. Um, Captain Justice and I were talking about ... human things. Nothing a robot need worry about.

Actually, we've been  talking about what a great job you've done lately, all those pro-bono cases, all the work with the starving children in Africa, that criminal conspiracy you uncovered to illegally drill oil in Manhattan. You've really outdone yourself.

I must admit, some of us were skeptical when you joined the Hero Squad. The idea of an anatomically accurate, 12-foot, robotic crab, armed with nothing but good intentions and a can-do spirit, joining the World's Finest Superhero team raised quite a few eyebrows, and many objections. But you won us over. You did everything we asked of you, and much we didn't ask of you, like organizing our laundry, removing the shellfish from the post-battle spread, and destroying that invisible oil rig in the Hudson River.

You've done the Hero Squad proud, RoboCrab. We'll emphasize that tomorrow at the press conference.

Why are we having a press conference? That's an excellent question, one I didn't think you'd ask. Your Artificial Intelligence is more advanced than I thought.

Well, I'm changing my name. I'm not Voltage anymore. I'm the Drillmaster. That's why I have this new costume. And why I have a drill on the end of my staff. And why I have an oil derrick graphic on my chest.

But I'm not the only one making a change! As of tomorrow, we are no longer the Hero Squad. Say hello to the Exxon Mobile World Crimefighting and Anti-Robot Squad. Obviously, we will also announce our new corporate sponsor.

As well as your your death.

Polling indicates the term "break down" will make the whole thing easier for the public to swallow. As I'm sure you know, you have millions of fans across the globe.

Now, if you'll look to your left, Captain Justice has a new cannon he would like to show you.

Don't fear, RoboCrab. In death, you will be fondly merchandised.

Q: What are the exercises that can help you build muscle strength?

A: You can lift free weights, or use the universal machine. Dumb bells work well, too.

Or, you could lift this car off me. That would build a lot of strength. This car is very heavy.

And it would save my life. This car is very heavy. It's crushing me.

I'm sorry, I don't have any free weights. Or dumb bells. Or heavy rocks.

You're right, any of those would help you build muscle strength. And fast.

What I do have is this car. This car on top of me. This heavy car on top of me, crushing my sternum, likely causing massive internal bleeding. Have I mentioned the weight of the car? I just wanted to make sure,  because it's very heavy.

And I'm very woozy.

This car must weigh a ton. This heavy, heavy car - the one on top of me. You'd probably look like Superman after you lifted it off me. You'd feel like him, too, because you will have saved my life.

Have I mentioned that I'm trapped under this car?  And that the car is very heavy?

I don't know what's in the car. I guess there could be a Perfect Push Up or one of those Shake Weights in the trunk. It's hard to say. I can't open the trunk from here. Because I am trapped. Under. The. Car.

I have no idea where to find a gym. I am not a navigator, nor a map, nor a personal trainer. I am a man. A man trapped under a car. A heavy, heavy car.

Have you even considered my suggestion?

Lifting the car off me. I've said it four or five times.

This car. The one on top of me.

Can't you at least try? Would it kill you? Please?

Thank you. I know you can do it. Just bend your knees and -

Oh, I feel it moving. It's lighter. I can -

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I assumed you understood that when I suggested lifting the car off me, you would allow me to get out from under it, and not drop it back down on my pelvis.

But you now what they say: When you assume you end up being an ass with a shattered pelvis.

I'm paraphrasing. I think. It's hard to tell.

I'm in pretty bad shape here.

Q: Do Beta Bites get too old to feed to your beta?

A: Real Beta Bites are loaded with chemicals. They last forever.

Now, I'm not a detective (legally) but I have noticed a few clues that make me suspect that your so-called "Beta Bites" are not, in fact, real Beta Bites

Clue Number One: The bottle. Real Beta Bites come in a factory-sealed, and more importantly, factory-made bottle, with a factory-made label. Your "Beta Bites" come in an old Advil bottle with the words "Bayta" and Bitez"  scrawled on the side in crayon.

Clue Number Two: The food. Real Beta Bites contain tiny flakes of fish food. Your "Beta Bites" contain large chunks of flesh, flesh that looks suspiciously like thumbs, suspiciously like the thumbs of your missing neighbor.

Clue Number Three: The fish. When Fighting Fish eat Beta Bites, they grow and thrive and live a long time. Your Fighting Fish died. I can only assume - again, not a detective (legally) - that they choked to death on chunks of thumb.

Clue Number Four: The water. Real Beta Bites cloud the water. The water in your aquarium is so clear, I can see everything  - from the sunken castle to the coral to the severed head of your missing neighbor resting on the bottom of the tank.

Clue Number Five: The gun in your hand. You have to ask yourself, "Would a man in possession of real Beta Bites need to pull a gun on a pet store owner/ amateur detective to prove the validity of said Beta Bites?" Probably not.

Clue Number Six: The bullet lodged in my spleen. I hate to jump to conclusions, but pulling the trigger and shooting me does make you seem like you have something to hide.

Clue Number Seven: When you shot me, you said "Those Beta Bites aren't real, sucker!" Pretty damning.

Clue Number Eight: I need to sit down.

Clue Number Ni...

Q: What are the factors causing decline of biodiversity?

A: Well, the plants are dying. The pesticides we brought killed them. Ironically, the pesticides didn't kill the bugs. They made the bugs stronger. Faster. Meaner.

The bugs ate the livestock. The bugs ate the birds. The bugs ate the lab animals. The bugs ate Jennings, the lab tech. The bugs got the thirst for human blood.

There's not many of us left now, Spiros, just you and me. And the bugs. All those bugs. The bugs and nothing else. That's not biodiversity, that's bioscarcity.

When they write the history of BioSphere 4, they'll blame the sudden, cataclysmic decline on biodiversity on any number of factors: poor planning, shoddy construction, improper pesticides, our decision to stock the sphere with insects discovered in a smoking crater from the Mojave Desert. But those aren't the real reason.

The real reason is the lack of air. We made the place air tight. Seemed like a good idea at the time. Another good idea would have been to install some oxygen tanks so we'd have something to breathe. The lack of oxygen really clouded our thinking. We really haven't done anything right since.

If we make it out of here, and I get a chance to design BioSphere 4 - as God as my witness - I will not make that mistake again. I will use my construction budget for actual construction, construction of the Sphere, construction of a life support system, instead of construction of a false identity that allowed us to jet around the world, living the high life and bedding models from Eastern Europe.

Those were the days, Spiros.

Spiros, you have a bug for a head.

Q: What is a collapse plot?

A: I guess the jig is up. I might as well come clean.

A collapse plot, rather, my collapse plot was plan, eight months in the making, to kill you and take your money. It was a pretty ingenious plan. I'm not just saying that because it was my plan, I'm basing my assessment solely on the plan itself. Specifically on it's ingenious nature.

First I'd bump into you at the supermarket, then I'd befriend you, gain your confidence, insinuate myself into every nook of your life, create conflict between you and your loved ones, slowly strip away all stability in your life, until I was your only friend and you had no choice but to name me as your sole heir, I lure you into the woods, where you would "accidentally" stumble into a pit full of sharp sticks, old bear traps broken glass, allowing me to collect my inheritance.

As you are now aware, my plan did not go as smoothly as I hoped. Perhaps my excitement got the better of me. Perhaps I shouldn't have marked the pit with a large, neon X. Perhaps I shouldn't have shouted "THE COLLAPSE PLOT CONCLUDES!" as you approached the pit. Perhaps my diabolical laugh was a mistake.  Perhaps I shouldn't have hired that marching band, and those cheerleaders, and had all those balloons drop from the trees. I realize now that I may have alerted you a little too soon.

Judging from the look on your face and the gun in your hand, I'm assuming there will be some changes in your will. I understand. But, if I may make one request: Before you shoot me, please help me clean up these balloons. All that latex is bad for the environment. Plus, I rented them from a party store and I'd really like to get my deposit back.

Q: What does it mean when you dream that someone is trying to kill you?

A: Your unconscious has been following your case and knows that all your appeals have run out. At least, that's what I think it means. I'm not a psychiatrist. I'm a priest. That's why I dress this way. And carry this book. And why everyone calls me "Father."

Now, will you make your final confession before God? Or do you want to stall some more? The guards are getting restless. They usually execute men by lethal injection. You're the first inmate to request death by bear wrestling. As you can imagine, the guards are excited. I hear there's been quite a bit of wagering.

Q: Is it better if a husband and wife both apply for a vehicle loan or?

A: Or what?

Or what?

What do you mean to say? Or, "is it better if the wife were to ... disappear, leaving the husband free to go about his life without having to deal with the cursed tyranny of marriage?"

Is that what you're trying to say? Do you want me to murder your wife? Or have someone murder your wife? I know people, as you must know, otherwise you wouldn't have come to me, made such a suggestion.  I can have something like that arranged, if that is what you want.

Is that what you want?

Blink once for yes, twice for no.

That was eight blinks. That was no help.

Are you even listening?

I don't understand your code. The seizing up and falling to the floor makes it seem like you are saying "Yes," but what does the sudden, extreme paleness mean? And why are you clutching your left arm? Am I to bill you for this service? That's not how these things work.

I can't understand a word you're saying. You're going to have to speak more clearly and without so much spittle. Those grunts are barely decipherable. Now you're just being insulting.

Listen, if this is some kind of game to you, I am not enjoying it. I am a busy man and I don't have time for your silly little shows. If you want your wife dead, send me a letter. If you want a loan, you can come back tomorrow and fill out the paperwork. If you'll excuse me, I have to go to my son's soccer game.

You're going to have to get off the floor. You can't sleep here.

Sir, get up. Get. Up.

My patience has worn thin.

Q: What organs belong to more than one system?

A: Depends. For some, it's the spleen, or the stomach, occasionally the brain.

In your case, it's the liver.

You share a liver, you and your brother. That's what makes you conjoined twins. That's why everyone throws rocks at you, and why they chase you with fire, and why they hide their children when you pass.

Can you really blame them? Have you ever looked at yourself?

You have? Oh. I see. That explains the despair etched on your face. I see that now.

It must be rough being a conjoined twin. I can understand why you'd want to put an end to it.

But, I believe your plan has some flaws. A flaw. One glaring, insurmountable flaw. That liver. That damn liver.

If I kill your brother, you would die, too. That's how it works.

Trust me, I looked it up.

As a professional hitman, I hate to say this, but I feel I have no choice: I cannot kill the person you hired me to kill. Not if you want to live. And you've made it clear that you do.

I'm going to return your money, minus the non-refundable deposit.

It's been a pleasure working with you. Maybe we'll get a chance to work together some time.

That time is right now.

I've accepted a very lucrative offer from your conjoined twin. He feels rather betrayed by your plans to kill him and wants vengeance, no matter the cost, no matter what happens to him.

Here's a bit of advice: The next time you want to hire a professional to murder your conjoined twin, consider whispering. He's right there.

Q: How much does it cost to make a will?

A: Why do you want to make a will, Dad?

Aren't you going to leave everything to me when you die?

That was always my understanding. That's why I spent all those years running your companies, doing your dirty work, and burying the skeletons in your closet, both literal and figurative.

I wouldn't have done all that if I knew you would get remarried at the age of 82 and leave everything to your new wife and her freakish, hillbilly family.

I thought you got that hillbilly jones out of your system. That's why we opened that plant in Kentucky.

If you insist on making a will, I'll draw one up for you, free of charge. All you'll need to do is sign it. I'll take care of the rest. I'll make sure your lovely new bride gets taken care of. I'll even buy her a home without wheels on it. She'll be thrilled.

What do you say, Dad?

You better decide soon. The trains pretty close.

It's going to take me a while to untie you.

Q: What does it mean if someone is theatrical?

A: When someone calls you theatrical, they mean you are dramatic, larger than life, your gestures and movements broad and exaggerated as if you are playing to the back of a crowded theatre. Calling someone "theatrical" would  be considered a wonderful compliment, especially if they are auditioning for a part in a stage musical, a farce or even a silent film.

This, however, is not an audition. This is a job interview. An unsuccessful job interview.

Perhaps you misunderstood our ad. We don't need someone to "play" the "role" of a kidnapper, we're looking for a kidnapper. Someone subtle. Someone who can remain invisible. Someone who will keep his cool under intense pressure. You can see why you wouldn't work out.

But I've said too much already.

We're going to have to shoot you now. Try not to make a big deal out of it.

Q: What are bad things that can happen to you while mining?

A: Well, you can get the black lung. That's a big one. That'll kill you.

You can also hit your head, or hurt your back. Mining's pretty grueling work.

There's also the more existenisal concerns, like, "Am I meant to me a miner? Am I following my true path in life? Am I only doing this because my father was a miner, and my grandfather was a miner, and my great-grandfather dug an underground tunnel to hide from authorities for twelve years? Is this really what I want to do?"

Black lung and a broken back might kill, but they'll never be as painful as that morning when you wake up, look in the mirror after twenty-four years of mining, and realize that you hate mining, that you always wanted to dance. That's all you've ever wanted to do, just dance.

Yup, that was the worst day of my life.

Until today.

I forgot to mention cave-ins.

Those are the worst. Far worse than I ever imagined. And being a miner, you think about cave-ins a lot.

Yup, a cave in is the worst thing that can happen to a miner. By far.

On the bright side, I can't feel my legs. Or see them.

For all I know, they could be somewhere under all this rubble, dancing up a storm.

Oh, wait. There they are.

How did they get over there?

They don't look like they'll be dancing anytime soon.

Q: Why is the left ventricle of the heart bigger than the right side?

A: You have a bullet lodged in there. That's also why it's bleeding.

I told you to grab a vest before we left the station. But you wouldn't listen.

I told you to wait for my signal before charging in the house. Again, not good at listening.

And I'm pretty sure I told you to seek cover when the shooting starts, to hide behind a door, or flip over a table. I'm pretty sure I didn't tell you to dive through the window, scream, then stand in the middle of the room firing your gun in every direction.

I have to admit, it was pretty funny when you dove through that window and yelled "Supplies!"

We all got a good laugh out of that. We tell that joke all the time down at the station.

Those drug dealers were pretty surprised, too. Not as surprised as you were, once you realized we had loaded your gun with blanks.

I probably should have told you about that. We don't allow civilians to carry loaded weapons. Department policy. Sorry about that.

Of all the actors we've had ride along with us to research a role, you are the most fun. And the best cop.

Your ridiculous heroics created enough of a distraction that we were able to enter, through the back door, and take out those drug dealers, without a single shot fired.

Except for all those shots they fired at you.

Nevertheless, we're all really proud of you. Your heroism will not go unnoticed. The Commissioner plans to give you a medal.

Posthumously, of course.

Q: Is Anna a saint?

A: Is that what she's been telling you?

Is that why you have been leaving those sandwiches outside her house every day?

Is that why you have been giving her your allowance every week?

Is that why you have been carrying those signs that say "St. Anna needs your help" outside her store?

Anna is not a saint. She is a drug dealer. Specifically, a pharmacist, licensed by the state of California to dispense medicinal marijuana.

She's not a saint.

She has been lying to you.

Anna's manipulating you because she can't handle the competition. I have better product, in more varieties, at better prices. She'll be out of business soon and she knows it.

She's desperate, and will do anything to survive.

I never saw this one coming. I give her credit. I never thought she'd turn my own brother against me. I thought you were hooking up with her. I didn't know you were convinced she was a saint.

Those signs should have been a hint. And all that self flagellation. And that mural you made.

I just thought she was good in bed.

Saints usually don't ask you to kill people, just so you know. That goes against the whole concept of saintliness.

It's obviously too late now, but, in the future, when a "saint" asks you to stab someone, someone like your own brother, you should stop and ask yourself "Is this something a saint would do? Am I being misled? Can I trust this person?"

Make sure you ask yourself those questions before you commence stabbing, and not after, not once you've called the saint on the phone and she laughs at you.