There's a one in six billion chance you'll find your soul mate. And that's if they're not dead. At best they're probably living in some Siberian ice cave eating bugs and weaving beads into their back hair. But they're out there. My dad believed that to find your perfect soul mate, first, you had to look through a bunch of other guys' soul mates.

I bet a guy at a bar 50 bucks that I was more dysfunctional than he was. He raped me. So I tipped him. I'm very competitive.

My mum is in a mental hospital. There's a fine line between genius and insanity. Winston Churchill, Mozart, John Lennon. These people all had a touch of crazy that fuelled their brilliance. They were not locked up for it like my mum. Pft. Then again, Winston Churchill never tried to kill my dad.

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.

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.

They call it torture when our guys put underwear on a guy's head, stripped him naked, put an egg between his buttcheeks and made him do jumping jacks. You know, if it can't get you into a fraternity at Chico State University, it's not torture.

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.