Every year on my birthday I get a small dash on my inner thigh where my balls currently hang. You can't tell me that's not going to be a beautiful work of art when it's finished. My grandkids are playing with my balls, they can't figure it out. They're like, 'What are these things?' I'm like, 'It's your future, read the chart.' They don't stop growing; they're like earlobes. That joke was inspired by a door that wasn't locked when I was 11.

I love people of all ethnicities, as long as they're not ugly.

I'll tell you what's better than watching the sunrise... Sleeping through it.

Don't you love it when people in school are like, “I'm a bad test taker”? You mean, you're stupid. Oh, you struggle with that part where we find out what you know? Oh. No, no, I can totally relate. See, because I'm a brilliant painter, minus my God-awful brushstrokes. Oh, how the masterpiece is crystal up here, but once paint hits canvas, I develop Parkinson's.

If you had to eat another human to survive, do you think they'd taste like their ethnic background?

I don't know what fire is made of - hell nobody does. All I know is that fire is awesome. I'm not a pyromaniac, but I am a pyroenthusiast.

The national anthem blows. Are you kidding me? Do any of you have it on your iPod?