My sister might be dumb, but that doesn't make her all that different from the rest of us. She's just like any other American. Except she's Canadian. And retarded.

When I first got into this biz called show, I decided I was going to change my name, make it more Hollywood. And you know how you do that? You take your middle name and the first street that you ever lived on. So when I first started, I actually went by Sue Rural Route 2.

My sister is also retarded. Across the board. She's a one hundred per cent, honest to goodness, born that way retard. I learned a long time ago that if you're going to tell a story about your retarded sister, you need to mention she's retarded right off the bat or inevitably, at the end of the story, someone will say, What... is she, retarded? And then you have to go, Uh... yeah, she is. Followed by a lengthy, awkward silence.

I don't think cops should wear mirrored sunglasses; the whole time the guy was chewing me out, all I could think was I should cut my bangs.

My sister might be dumb, but that doesn't make her all that different from the rest of us. She's just like any other American. Except she's Canadian. And retarded.

I guess the biggest issue my husband and I are going to have is how do we raise the baby... because he's Jewish and I'm Protestant and the baby's father is Catholic.

One of my favorite sketches, and a popular comedy formula, is to put someone with a mental handicap in some kind of unlikely situation. For example: The retarded gynecologist, the retarded Jesus, the retarded Osama Bin Laden. It works. It's funny. Inappropriate? I dunno. I feel like I'm a pretty good judge of what crosses the line of good taste being that I am retarded. Socially perhaps, but severly retarded.