Being a teenager is the worst thirty years of your life. But it all changes after that. You get a great car, a great job. You got a wife, kids, you got your health. But then your company is sold out from under you, your stocks tank, your wife's sleeping with the gardener and your teenage daughter is pregnant. And you notice that you have a prostate so hard, you can actually take a hammer to it. But hey, not one zit.

Every weekend, I would get the drunk driving lecture. Of course, Dad drank and drove all the time. I guess it wasn't a lecture; it was helpful tips from the master.

Losing builds character. So, if you're the loser in your family, don't worry. 'Cos twenty years form now, that perfect can do no wrong brother of yours is going to show up at your house, bald, fat, divorced, with six kids who all hate him and he's going to ask you for money. And because of your character, you're going to look him right in the eyes and you're going to say, You know what, I'll give you some money. If you mow my lawn and detail my car. Oh yeah, then you can shampoo the tail. Loser.

At the end of the Peterson trial, my daughter turns to me and she goes, 'Daddy, are you going to kill Mommy?' 'Oh, honey - that's up to mommy, isn't it?

I love being from a screwed up family. We have everything in my family: prescription drug abuse, mental illness, one of my uncles is a Mormon.

This country you're sitting in right now was not built on love, hugs, time-outs and trophies you didn't earn. This country was built on shame, humiliation and striving to be better. By the way, if you're in this room right now and you're successful... you didn't get there because someone loved you too much or gave you too many hugs or you got a trophy when you lost. You did it because at one point in your life, somebody turned to you and said you're a loser, and in that second, you decided to bust your ass to make them choke on that sentence... Or, your parents gave you the money.

The closer you get to death, the more alive you feel. Dylan Thomas wrote, Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. My dad always taught me to live like that. Dad wrote a poem too. It goes, Dune buggies. Woohoo!