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!

My father? A hard drinking man from the 70's. We actually have no pictures of my dad where he is not holding a beer. Weddings, Funerals, Water Skiing, Parent-Teacher Conference. When I got sick around him as a kid growing up, he'd always warm me up a shot of 100 proof whiskey. Never got sick... that I can remember.

Lady, if you laugh and you don't make a noise, you're a shaker, and it's freaking me out.

We are brought into this world cold, weak, and helpless. Then it gets worse.

When you screw up, you got to pay the price. Shoot up a supermarket, you go to jail. Ride a motorcycle without a helmet, permanent brain damage and in California you're getting a ticket. Too chatty on a date with my dad, well, he'll push you in front of a cross town bus. Of course, you know, I'm speaking metaphorically. My dad will push you in front of any bus.

My father thrives on fear. You know that prayer If I should die before I wake? I had sheets that said that!

Blood doesn't make you family. Hell, an only child can bleed. It's the sharing of pain that makes you family. 'Cause, you can't really love a brother or sister until you know that they're as scarred and broken as you are. And, hey, if you grow up with a father like mine and you aren't at least a little scarred and broken, well then, that's not your father. You were spawned by an entirely different guy.