Ros was dead. He had loved heroin more than it loved him. I was shocked beyond imagining; he was the first of my friends to fall.

I realize that I am not a journalist. So anything I say is not important.

I had lived in fear of the fabled terrifying visions that assail chronic drinkers, but which had not yet attacked me.

I've started looking at my own father a bit funny. He assures me, though, that I really am the son of a Scottish postman.

I hated the summer jobs I had when I was a teenager. They were so mundane and repetitious, they deadened my soul. On the bright side, it was good training for this job.

There are rumors that there is a John Edwards sex tape. People say it's twenty minutes of Edwards caressing and stroking...And that's just the part where he fixes his hair.

He was in awe of the thirst that people had for someone to tell them that everything was going to be all right. He marveled at the gullibility and vulnerability of his fellow humans. No wonder the churches called them sheep. They were woolly-headed pack animals being herded around for the benefit of whoever knew how to control the dogs.