Bad news has never been broken gently in my family. Because, breaking it gently takes a few extra seconds. And who's got that kinda time? Hey, we maybe failures, but we are very busy.

My father was on the Alcoholics Anonymous wishlist. My mother was on... parole. And lithium.

My first car was a 1977 Oldsmobile Delta 88. Ugly car. More ugly on this car than a Rolling Stones group photo.

All of Dad's relationships ended exactly the same: subpoena, beep of a moving van backing up the driveway, pile of his clothes burning on the front lawn.

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.

Participation trophies are the soul herpes of a generation.

I say we spend some money, clean up some junkies and make them all go work for the Red Cross. You ever give blood to the Red Cross? Little paper hatted trainee kid, just sticking you full of holes. Golly, jeez, this is way harder than the deep fryer, how does this work? You get an ex-junkie in there, bap-bap, he's gonna find a vein. You're in, you're out, you got sugar cookie and you're happy!