Anyone who's ever had the misfortune of seeing me interact with house pets knows I have a wickedly strong paternal instinct bordering on the maternal.

A lot of people expend great time and effort explaining why they don't like me, but none of them ever try to explain why their opinion should matter to me. I think most of them sense, but would never be brave enough to admit, their subordinate role in the food chain relative to me.

I've never had a meth habit, I don't walk around naked, and unless I'm actively provoked, I'm generally polite and well-spoken.

San Francisco, America's B-movie imitation of Paris. San Francisco, the city that ruined punk rock. San Francisco, the most intolerant place in the country.

One day scientists will more fully understand the chemistry and neuro-circuitry that differentiates love from lust. I couldn't begin to explain the mechanics, but I know that they feel differently.

If I’d been talking about black trash, I might be lynched. If I was talking about white trash, I’d merely be another torchbearer in an ongoing national lynching.

I think that 99% of the snipers who take shots at me from electronic foxholes also realize they could never withstand the sort of public disparagement, nor the revelation of so many personal details, that I've endured for years and still remain as impenitent, obnoxious, and ready to argue all critics into the dirt as I am. I think this also jacks up their hatred level, because they realize they'd never be so strong-willed.