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.

Growing up, road trips with Dad were something I hated. Sitting still for hours, singing that stupid song, "100 bottles of beer on the wall. 100 bottles of beer..." Dad, you know, keeping up with the song.

Benadryl - the seven-dollar babysitter.

In a normal family, a surprise means presents, cake and a party. For me ? I had no idea. And my family, doing something nice is seen as an attack. When I was nine, I 'attacked' my father with a fathers day gift. A visor organiser for his car, because it was useful. And it rhymed. Visor. Organiser. I was nine.

The normal make a living. The deranged make history.

In a normal family, surprise means presents, cake and a party. My family, surprise means homelessness, abandonment and destruction of private property. Sometimes we have cake. We're not losers.

Everybody's a racist. It's the one human trait that makes us all exactly the same. Deep down, we only like people who are exactly like us. And it doesn't matter. White. Black. Red. Yellow. Purple, uh oh, the purple people, are the worst. Man. All prejudiced and birth marky. But, we've got to learn to get past our differences. I learned that at the museum of tolerance. After my dad beat the crap out of a guy over a parking spot.