I read Warren Zevon's bizarre biography, "I'll Sleep When I'm Dead." His wife, Crystal Zevon, posthumously published a journal he wrote and some interviews with ex-band members. Like [Keith] Richards's book "Life," it's brutally honest.

The Russians will never be able to get their missiles thought the dense protective layer of delayed flights circling over the United States in complex, puke-inducing holding patterns.

Never allow a child to spend all of his allowance. Insist that he set aside a certain amount of money every week and put it in a safe place, where you can get it if you need to buy beer.

The coyotes made too much noise last night and kept me awake. Please eradicate these annoying animals.

Why don’t you lift the end?” said Alf. “It’s me back, Alf,” complained Mack. “You know how it troubles me.” “No more than mine troubles me,” said Alf. “But I said it first,” said Mack.

I realize that I'm generalizing here, but as is often the case when I generalize, I don't care.

There shall be a National Anthem containing incomprehensible words and a high note that normal humans cannot hit without risk of hernia.