My hatred is diamond-hard.

When I write, I strain with every wizened fibre of my weathered frame to analyze every possible angle of any given subject.

When you're indiscriminate in allowing people to post, the loudest and emptiest voices invariably drown out everyone else.

What are a genuine pain in the ass are all the misconceptions and outright lies. I read somewhere that in 2004 I was homeless in Seattle and drinking heavily, which came as a shock since I've never been homeless and haven't had a drink since 1982. I've also heard SEVERAL times that I'm a card-carrying member of several white-supremacist groups, when the last group I belonged to was the Boy Scouts.

Most of those who spend their lives as critics secretly wish they'd be considered important enough for someone to bother criticizing them.

A primary flaw in my psychology is that I'll give people a hundred yards' worth of rope with which to hang themselves, but once they reach that hundred-yard line, I strangle them to death with it.

There's a reason the Third World came in third.