I was a cute baby. My mom said when I was born they threw away the mold. Some of it grew back.

When I was ten, my family moved to Downer's Grove, Illinois. When I was twelve, I found them.

I read that nine out of 10 women fantasize about having an unknown man leap through their bedroom window at night and make mad, passionate love to them. Who would think with those odds, I would now be facing 150 hours of community service.

My parents were very protective. I couldn't even cross the street without them getting all excited, and placing bets.

Writing jokes for others is like having babies for someone else. It's sad. Like the woman who gives up her baby but needs to be close so she secretly becomes the maid in the household.

There's a joke in everything, the trick is finding it. The best compliment a joke can get is what Huxley said about Darwin's theory of evolution - 'Why didn't I think of that?'

People come up to me... concerned... that I'll reproduce.