I'm praying for 'Ice Age' 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 and 10. Because I really think we can run those characters into the '60s, and I'm talking the 1960s, you know? The Civil Rights Movement. That's what I'm praying for, because then I wouldn't have to do anything else.

There is a huge boom in autism right now because inattentive mothers and competitive dads want an explanation for why their dumb-ass kids can't compete academically, so they throw money into the happy laps of shrinks . . . to get back diagnoses that help explain away the deficiencies of their junior morons. I don't give a [bleep] what these crackerjack whack jobs tell you - yer kid is NOT autistic. He's just stupid. Or lazy. Or both.

Science fiction was never my thing. I have no interest in it.

I wasn't the best student. I wasn't stupid, but I wasn't paying a lot of attention.

I'm born and raised in the Northeast. My parents are Irish immigrants. So our tendency is to shy away from the big yellow ball that comes up in the sky every once in a while.

The things that make me angry still make me angry. George Carlin is 67, and he's still as funny as he's ever been, and he's still angry. And that makes me feel good, because I feel like if I stick around long enough, I'll still be able to work.

Elvis and I call up Cadillac dealerships all night long, suckin' down Ny Quil stingers and cheese. He says, what the hell's Lisa Marie thinking with that Michael Jackson crap?