“…,” I Said.

The words behind the quotes and the other sometimes weird, sometimes rude things stringers say to get the story.

“…,” I Said.

“Your son was just shot point-blank in the basement. How do you feel about that?”

“Tell me, and forgive me if this is a hard time for you, but had you any inclination that your neighbor would throw her roommate’s toddler off of the balcony like that? Did you hear a fight? Did you see the blood splatter on the pavement?”

“I need a comment, basically, on why the mayor let his daughter bring her pig to dinner. No big deal. But if you could also confirm its name and the specific breed, that would be fantastic.”

“Which way did the tornado go?”

“Do you feel that members of the LGBT community owe it to you to vote for you for mayor? And what color are your toenails painted today?”

“Was she bound and gagged and tied to the bed, or just raped? And if she was bound, was it with her sweatsuit? I heard someone say there was a sweatsuit.”

“I’m sorry, again, I mean no disrespect and I don’t really need to go anywhere. Before you start driving…please…it’s just that I heard that you were the cab driver who took Mr. Strauss-Kahn to the airport and that he told you he was in a rush and needed to get there quickly…I mean no disrespect…Please don’t get angry. I know you don’t want any trouble.”

“Ms. Olsen? What are you wearing? I mean, who. Who are you wearing? Because I can see that yes, yes it is some type of coat.”

“Don’t worry, I promise I won’t ask about Lindsey Lohan. We’re the Times. We don’t do that kind of reporting. But, on that note, it must be so frustrating to have people ask you about your ex all the time, right? I mean, you’re a d.j. You’re an artist. And the past is the past, right?”

“When you’re psychically communicating with the dead pets, do they ever tell you things like, ‘I hate Iams!’ or something?…Oh, of course! How silly of me. Dogs can’t read.”

“How many times were you stabbed in the skull, again? I couldn’t hear.”