“Dakota's head was stuck in his toga. He staggered around olike a Kool-Aid-stained ghost.
"Um," Percy said, "should I wear my bed sheets?”

“It wasn’t easy looking dignified wearing a bed sheet and a purple cape.”

“He had electric blue hair that had stuck around his head like tendrils of a startled octopus.”

“HAVE FUN DRINKING THE KOOL AID IN YOUR CULT.”

“But sorry is the Kool-Aid of human emotions. […] True sorrow is as rare as true love.”

“A second floor window opened, and Kyle stuck his head and shoulders out so he could look down at us. “If you two are finished playing Cowboy and Indian out there, some of us would like to get their beauty sleep.”

I looked at Warren. “You heard ‘um Kemo Sabe. Me go to my little wigwam and get ‘um shut-eye.”

“How come you always get to play the Indian?” whined Warren, deadpan.

“Cause she’s the Indian, white boy,” said Kyle.”

“You mean a bad heel?" I said. "Couldn't I just, like, wear something besides sandals? No offense."
-Percy”

“To 'choose' dogma and faith over doubt and experience is to throw out the ripening vintage and to reach greedily for the Kool-Aid.”

“This guy (Pat Robertson) obviously wants to be a prophet so bad. I wonder if he walks around at home dressed up in a bed sheet, talking Aramaic, maybe parting the waters in the bathtub occasionally, just to keep in practice?”

“Are you alright?"
"No, I bumped my head." Rubbing the spot, I looked dazedly around the bare hallway.
"What did I bang it on?" I demanded ungrammatically.
"head." he said, rather grumpily, I thought.”