My mom had this inate ability. Whatever town my mother moved to, the second she walked into town, she would instantly attract the alpha loser of that town. This guy was not a good guy. This guy was half O.J. Simpson and half O.J. Simpson. Scott Peterson sprinkles on the top, a side of Robert Blake. You know, not a good guy.

I'm thinking of a presidential bid; currently indexing and cross-referencing everyone I've tweeted my junk to. 8x10s available.

Growing up, road trips with Dad were something I hated. Sitting still for hours, singing that stupid song, "100 bottles of beer on the wall. 100 bottles of beer..." Dad, you know, keeping up with the song.

My dad's all I've ever had. When I was 3 and 4, my mom used to take me to bars. I understand why now - babysitters cost beer, beer and-a-half an hour.

I believe life is about balance. My mom was brilliant, yet manipulative. Beautiful, but had more voices in her head than the Wu-Tang Clan. Loves her kids, killed her last husband. I say last husband because you don't get another one after that.

Osama's dead. Why is the terror alert elevated or imminent? Why not chill? Can't I just fly, keep my shoes on and avoid X-ray-fueled testicular cancer?

You don't get a rebate at the end of your life for living with an idiot.