A woman told me her child was autistic, and I thought she said artistic. So I said, 'Oh great. I'd like to see some of the things he's done.

Boxing is a more sophisticated form of hockey.

I always have these little internal monologues. You'll get used to them.

Ah, to be a bird. To fly the skies, sing my song, and best of all occasionally peck someone's eyes out.

Who decides when the applause should die down? It seems like it's a group decision; everyone begins to say to themselves at the same time, "Well, okay, that's enough of that."

And off we go, out onto the highway looking for a little fun. Perhaps a flatbed truck loaded with human cadavers will explode in front of a Star Trek reunion. One can only dream and hope.

When will all the rhetorical questions end?