I'm the enemy. Because I like to think, I like to read. I'm into freedom of speech, the freedom of choice. I'm the kind of guy who likes to sit in a greasy spoon and wonder - "Gee, should I have the T-bone steak or the jumbo rack of BBQ ribs with the side order of gravy fries?" I want high cholesterol. I wanna eat bacon and butter and buskets of cheese, okay? I wanna smoke a Cuban cigar the size of Cincinnati in the non-smoking section. I wanna run through the streets naked with green Jell-O all over my body reading Playboy magazine. Why? Because I suddenly might feel the need to, okay, pal?

When you write about real life, there's always a chance that somebody involved is going to see it and get upset.

Let me tell you something: I love the Yankees. And let me tell you why: because without the Yankees, there is nobody to hate.

I believe in prescription drugs. I believe in feeling better.

"Yeah, well, if you eat red meat, it stays in your colon for fifteen years!" Good! I paid for it; I want it in my ass, okay? I want them to find a meat sweater from my esophagus to my asshole when they open me up in the end! "This guy's covered in meat! He's Meat-Man! He's Meat-Tracheotomy-Man!"

It says on the back of the Nyquil box, 'May cause drowsiness.' It should say, 'Don't make any plans, OK? Kiss your family and friends good-bye.'

I'd love to play in a Red Sox game. It would be so awesome to actually walk out on the field and play, just for one inning. I'd also steal everything I could get my hands on in the clubhouse, which is why they won't let me do it.