My father, never chooses me for anything. Unless he needs a human shield. Thirty years and all I am to him is a hunk of meat to block buck shot. Told you dad needed me. Who's the best man now?

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.

Nobody's really happy. And as soon as society realises that you can't trust anyone and that hardship is a natural part of existence, the sooner the therapists will realise that they are worthless! Sorry. They have worth deficit disorder!

Screwed-up people settle fights through violence. Screwed-up people start wars that could kill millions. Normal people settle fights through cookies, cakes, and pies. Normal people are fat.

Why should I learn English? I'm never going to England. Shah, pffff, ur, doy.

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.

The yearbook voted me most likely to be scraped off an onramp by a puking fireman.