The other day I saw a guy with a sign that said, WHERE WILL YOU SPEND ETERNITY? Which freaked me out because I was on my way to the Department of Motor Vehicles.

I hate all generalisations.

Anybody see 'Cop Land'? I went to go see it, but I got stoned in the parking lot. And then on the way in, I read the marquee, and I got paranoid and went home.

I could've enjoyed a cigarette if I smoked back before everyone knew it was bad - say, like, 1923. Everybody smoked back then. There was no medical information against it; they had no idea - it was a paradise. It was a smoker's paradise: 'They're taking my lung out next week. I don't know why. Doctor thinks maybe I'm brushing my teeth too often, but I can't help it because, for some reason, my breath smells like I licked a monkey's ass.

I just got a car, and I gotta say, this car is very cryptic. The very first day I drove it, a light came on out of nowhere: 'Check engine.' Could they be any more vague? What if a light came on and said, 'Problem'?

I was troubled by the presence of a shoe museum because it forced me to ask a very burning question: would my body be able to physically survive the amount of dope I would need to smoke in order to visit a shoeseum?

Home is wherever I am. People make too big a deal about where you live. I try to be grounded in myself. Home is another way of saying 'a place where you keep all your stuff'.