When you look like your passport photo, it's time to go home.
I'm so bored. I went to the food locker yesterday to visit my meat.
My mind works . . . two boobs never get me a job.
In Russia, as I sat there day after day wearing headphones, listening to the interpreter struggle to make our words relevant, I wondered if we could establish meaningful rapport with a nation that had never seen raisins dance in dark glasses on TV...never had a garage sale.
No one ever died from sleeping in an unmade bed.
If I had my life to live over I would have burned the pink candle sculpted like a rose before it melted in storage.