As I wiped the tears from my face after a particularly normal episode of Glee, my brother walked into my bedroom. (Shut up. Move along. Nothing to talk about here.) He gave me some information on a free e-book for my nook.

He valiantly ignored my sniffles. "I figure that if you don't like it, well, it's free, so . . ."

"BAHLETED!" I shouted. "Which sounds like bleeded. Which sounds like bleated."

"Which sounds like Panic at the Disco."

And with that, he turned and walked away.