That's it, cupcake. You're going down.

I was coming down off the last painkiller left in my dresser drawer after Autumn tossed my stash. In that moment I was so groggy and happy I would have accepted a date with Oscar the Grouch - and planned to do some serious feeling up on the green furry beast too. Yeah, stooping to pharmaceutical-inspired sex fantasies about garbage can Sesame Street characters - that had to be the best Just Say No drug lecture a girl in a leg cast could ever receive to make her go cold turkey off the meds.

You're funny.' Phoebe passed me the last chocolate cupcake. 'And I always thought your friends were laughing over their own farts.''Ninety percent of Eastwood's male population laughs over their own farts. Present company excluded, naturally.

I've never met a problem a proper cupcake couldn't fix.

Hell-on-skis, can you hear me? This is flying cupcake.