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Syndrome: You know, I went through quite a few supers to make it worthy to fight you, but man, it wasn't good enough! After you trashed the last one, I had to make some major modifications. Sure, it was difficult, but you are worth it! I mean, after all... I am your biggest fan.Syndrome: My name is not Buddy! And it's not Incrediboy, either. That ship has sailed. All I wanted was to help you. I only wanted to help, and what do you say to me?
Mr. Incredible: ...Buddy?
Trish:Mickie James, why do I know that name, Mickie James?Mickie:Yeah!
Mickie: Huh? Yeah, I'm like your biggest fan! I mean I've written you like a zillion times, I know you don't have time to write me back it's okay. You're very busy, I mean you're the women's champion, I mean you know but it's super nice to meet you I mean I idolize you! I love you Trish, like I want to be just like you!
—Monday Night Raw
I thought we were going to get killed by people who didn't like us, Glod thought. Now I think it's possible to get killed by people who love us...
Every "best-selling" writer of fiction would, he supposed, have his own personal example or examples of radical reader involvement with the make-believe worlds the writer creates... examples of the Schehereazade complex, Paul thought now, half-dreaming as the sound of Annie's mower ebbed and flowed at some great echoing distance. He remembered getting two letters suggesting Misery theme parks, on the order of Disney World or Great Adventure. One of these letters had included a crude blueprint. But the blue-ribbon winner (at least until Annie Wilkes had entered his life) had been Mrs. Roman D. Sandpiper III, of Ink Beach, Florida.