Tyler and me at the edge of the roof, the gun in my mouth, I'm wondering how clean this gun is.

A couple drinks. A couple aspirin. Repeat.

We're all going overnight express delivery straight to Hell.

I disconnect the telephone to keep the outside world in it's correct place.

Shotgunning anybody in this room would be the moral equivalent of killing a car, a Barbie doll, a vacuum cleaner. We're all such products.

I spent my life attacking everything because I was too afraid to risk creating anything.

You love me. You ignore me. You save my life, then you cook my mother into soap.