Most of my friends are into strange things I don't really understand - and with a few shameful exceptions I wish them all well. Who am I, after all, to tell some friend he shouldn't change his name to Oliver High, get rid of his family, and join a Satanism cult in Seattle? Or to argue with another friend who wants to buy a single-shot Remington Fireball so he can go out and shoot cops from a safe distance?

All gamblers lose regularly, but they rarely discuss it in public. Losing is bad for the image, dude. Nobody buys Hot Tips from Losers. Remember that.

Journalism, to me, is just another drug - a free ride to scenes I'd probably miss if I stayed straight.

I would feel real trapped in this life if I didn't know I could commit suicide at any time.

I don't think that my kind of journalism has ever been universally popular. It's lonely out here.

At age 22 I set what I insist is an all-time record for distance hitchhiking in Bermuda shorts: 3,700 miles in three weeks.

Some may never live, but the crazy never die.