I was in the most dangerous part of town you could imagine.  It reminded me of the most hellish neighborhood in the Australian Outback.  A large woman with a dark complexion came out of a building (which I associated with a prison) and asked me to do her a favor.  She said she needed help pushing a tissue through a slot across the street.  The tissue was draped over the end of a tool, presumably a screwdriver.  The task sounded simple enough, and she was pushy enough that I obliged.  She walked behind me, thrusting me forward rather gruffly, and I told myself not to take her behavior the wrong way.  I imagined that she had many children and was experienced in having to shove them around to keep them in line.  Up ahead I saw our destination, and it filled me with fear.  It was like a solitary phone booth, but it was a cage with prison bars, and it was virtually bursting with menace.  I suspected that someone criminally insane was inside that cell.  "What's going to happen?" I asked my companion.  "I don't know" was all she said, though we were both thinking that those bars could give way any moment.  When we got up to the cage, I saw that it was swarming with many people inside, all either criminally insane or hopelessly deformed monstrosities.  I couldn't help but wonder whether or not there were better ways to deal with these people than this outdoor cage --  weren't there advances in plastic surgery that could help?  Or were their grotesque deformities evidence of a twisted energy present at the time of reincarnation?  And should we be suspicious of dwarves?  The woman ushered me toward the bars, and I cautiously inched the screwdriver toward the bars until the tissue fell off and was grabbed by one of the crouching inmates.  Then the woman and I fled as fast as we could, lest the little prison cell break loose like a Pandora's Box and subject us to the fallout.  Later in the dream, I was telling this experience to my mother, and I recalled more details.  I remembered feeling that something had to be resolved regarding this prison.  I went back to it, and this time the inmates were quiet, calmly studying me.  I looked at my hand, then realized what to do.  The cage now inexplicably half full of water, I dipped the screwdriver into the water so as to drip some of the water onto my palm.  The water was thick and opaque and looked like semen.  I knew that I had to cut myself and allow the water to mix with my blood.  I knew that this water was from the River Styx, and that instead of poisoning me it would give me immortality.  I pushed the screwdriver (which I now noticed to be barbed) all the way through my palm without pain.

From the Omnificent English Dictionary in Limerick Form:

To know if it's archly she speaks,
Look straight at her brow (not her cheeks).
If an eyebrow is raised,
Then please don't be fazed —
She's been this ironic for weeks.

This is the oldest trick in the book.  These are the same people who attacked us earlier.  This is just round two.
—Diane Carey, Challenger (2000)

Luxury cars used to be called El Dorados or Town-and-Countrys.  Now they're called "M-35" and Q-45 and MDXs.  And the Wall Street Journal reports that's creating a shortage of luxury letter and number combinations.  As it stands, 22 of the alphabet's 26- letters have been taken.

Letters "S" and "Z" are in great demand.  But neither comes close to letter "X", which is the hottest letter.  And nobody wants O, P, U, or Y which are seen as too ordinary for upscale.  By the way, B, F, and N are lousy letters too.  But the way I see it, the letters L, I, and Z make a delightful car combination.

The Frenchwoman ended the discussion with a fervent pfft, waving him away as she slid off her chair.  —Sparkle Hayter, Bandit Queen Boogie: A Novel.

I was obsessed with A. Lincoln when I was in third grade.  I somehow got the idea that I was supposed to have a favorite president.  I chose Lincoln because of the Emancipation, and then went "all-out" in the same compulsive way I embraced my faves The Partridge Family.  Highlights of this bizarre behavior included an essay for school in which I said they should rename "I Love Lucy" as "I Love Lincoln."

It was one of the oldest tricks in the book.  Ask some questions, wait a while, then ask ’em again.
—Ben Rehder, Buck Fever (2003)

You didn’t honestly expect me to believe that business about needing information for a good friend, did you?  That’s the oldest trick in the book.
—Debbie Macomber, One Night (1994)

“Just—pfft!”  He brandished a hand.  —LaVyrle Spencer, Bitter Sweet.