Humor needs to come in under cover of darkness, in disguise, and surprise people.

A cruise ship is a floating town of lazy people.

There was a price to be paid for being interested in fiction and in writing, pushing my family away. Books and authors became my family.

Spending time in a church does not make you religious, any more than spending time in a garage makes you a car.

We carry adolescence around in our bodies all our lives. We get through the Car Crash Age alive and cruise through our early twenties as cool dudes, wily, dashing, winsome . . . shooting baskets, the breeze, the moon, and then we try to become caring men, good husbands, great fathers, good citizens.

If you lived today as if it were your last, you'd buy up a box of rockets and fire them all off, wouldn't you?

The audience is invisible and that's good. Somewhere my voice is drifting through a swine barn and the sound of it seems to perk up the sows' appetite. Or a lady is listening on headphones as she jogs along a beach, running to my cadence. Or a dog sits in front of the radio, head cocked, and the sibilants excite him in some mysterious way. A dog's humorist, that's me.