Dear Die-ary, today I stuffed some dolls full of dead rats I put in the blender. I'm wondering if, maybe, there really is something wrong with me.

Nothing quite brings out the zest for life in a person like the thought of their impending death.

I don't really get hate mail, which surprises me, but people have better things to do than to write hate mail to somebody who writes a book about hating everything, I guess.

As I got farther and farther along in the series I did less and less preparation. I didn't use outlines or sketches. I just had a vague idea of what I wanted to tell and then the dialogue just came to me as I was inking the page.

I don't want little kids reading my comics.

I'm not the guy who wins awards and gets mentioned in magazines.

But now I have a lot of little kids who watched Invader Zim whenever they could find it on television.