Negative opinions about me don't faze me unless I respect the person giving the opinion, which is rare. And if it's someone I respect, I usually take heed of what they're saying. But if I don't respect them, which I usually don't, what's the point?

Anti-racist propaganda is relentless and inescapable, as if the propagandists fear that if they shut up about it for a second, they'd instantly become racists themselves.

The idea of "karma" reeks of primitive religious superstition, so I don't place a lot of stock in it.

One of the greatest pleasures I get from my measly professional career is confusing people. "Wait - he beats women and seems like a Nazi, but he has impeccable grammar and keen reasoning skills and sings country music and can, from time to time, say or do something really funny?" It absolutely doesn't compute for them. I enjoy that immensely.

I've realized there are far more efficient and devastating methods of disturbing people than merely sloshing around in the pigpen with obvious, profane, scatological, flat-brained, grade-school offensiveness.

I believe "human sexuality" is one of the most ridiculous aspects of being a human, and here I was, facing publications whose prevailing editorial slant sought to portray our basic rutting instincts as something "ennobling" and "empowering," to depict women who were fundamentally whores and predominantly unstable as "sex workers" and "goddesses."

"Liberating" is a gay word, so let's phrase it this way: I know everything about me and still manage to be good friends with myself, so nothing anyone says that's truthful about me ever bothers me.