I just think the whole disease model of addiction is crap. It's rooted in fiction and junk science.

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

There was this one time in Vegas when I took four Victoria's Secret models and did one gram off each of their bodies within, like, 45 minutes. I declared myself King of Vegas and decided to remodel my hotel room with my bare hands to resemble King Louis XIV's bedroom at Versailles. Knocked down two entire walls, and later had four knuckle surgeries. Still wasn't as high as Rob Ford.

If you’re a part of my family, I will love you violently.

The nights I don't sleep it's because there's a higher calling telling me to stand guard.

I still don't have all the answers. I'm more interested in what I can do next than what I did last.

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.