In my long, long years toiling around the publishing industry, I've found that women simply don't stick to the writing with the same fervor that men do.

It's not exactly courageous to be an anti-racist these days; a hundred years ago, it was.

Show me pornography which promotes violence against women, and I'll buy it.

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."

the fact that they stole their whole shtick from Woody Guthrie and the coal-mining bards. While the alternative nation meows about personal fashion angst, the Appalachian nation still sings about unemployment.

The vegan diet is obviously lacking whatever essential nutrient it is that makes people likeable.

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?