I have a 10,000-year-old brain and the boogers of a 7-year-old. That's how I describe myself.

The paramedic called the press and sold me like a loaf of bread. This was news, and he wanted to be the one to report it.

You can't cure your own cancer, obviously, especially if it's late stage.

I don't have time for their judgement and their stupidity and you know they lay down with their ugly wives in front of their ugly children and look at their loser lives and then they look at me and they say, 'I can't process it' well, no, you never will stop trying, just sit back and enjoy the show. You know?

The only thing I'm addicted to right now is winning.

I'm tired of ignoring that I march to a different beat.

Shut your evil mucus-hole you truth terrorist. You LOSE every time a mirror implodes from your barbed and gristle image.