We have bigger things to brood on and enormous reasons for wallowing in terminal craziness until we finally hit bottom.

One thing I have learned in my painful career as a gambler is that bragging when you get lucky and win a few games will plunge you into gloom and unacceptable beatings very soon. It happens every time.

The person who doesn't scatter the morning dew will not comb gray hairs.

Never mind the track. The track is for punks. We are Road People. We are Cafe Racers.

All we have to do is get out and vote, while it's still legal, and we will wash those crooked warmongers out of the White House.

Coming of age in a fascist police state will not be a barrel of fun for anybody, much less for people like me, who are not inclined to suffer Nazis gladly and feel only contempt for the cowardly flag-suckers who would gladly give up their outdated freedom to live for the mess of pottage they have been conned into believing will be freedom from fear.

As long as I'm learning something, I figure I'm OK - it's a decent day.