Sometimes, to help the people you love, you've gotta commit a felony.

It should be a law. Everybody should legally own a gun. In fact, if you're caught outside your house without your gun, you get a ticket. And you get shot in the leg. Just to prove my point.

Being a teenager is the worst thirty years of your life. Peer pressure, acne, final exams, seven little tiny hairs on your upper lip. Luckily, the girls never noticed your infantile moustache, 'cos they were hyptonised by the fire engine sized zit on your forehead.

If you ask my dad for help... he'll help. Like a vulture helps an over-run armadillo on a Texas highway. One peck at the time.

We kinda hated sitcoms when we sat down and talked about this. We wanted to do something that was in the sitcom vain but totally different.

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

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.