"Don't get froggy," that low, bitter voice warns. "Getting froggy really ain't gonna help. I've got diseases on these fingers there's no names for and they're all worse than dying, so you stay nice and still and don't do anything that might cause you to wish you'd died instead."

...

"You made the appointment, right? That's how this is supposed to work. Father Mulcahy. Older guy. Glasses. Surprisingly scathing diss tracks? Let me know when this starts ringing a fuckin' bell."