I don't pull out because... it's not my problem.

What a shock that a guy who makes $2 million a week behaves exactly like I would with $2 million a week. As far as I’m concerned, if you make $2 million a week and you don’t have a hooker in your hotel room, you’re creepy and I don’t trust you. And I don’t do drugs at all, so for me it would just be more prostitutes. That’s how they would find me. I would be dead on the floor, flattened by a pile of prostitutes. I’d look like a cat in a hoarders’ house.

What a coincidence, they both go to College and I'm a rapist!

Apologies; our cultural obsession with them isn't about actually being offended, or simply needing to hear, “I'm sorry.” It's not really about right or wrong. It's about wanting to throw a rock in the dark and hear something break.

The funniest people I know always seem to be the ones surrounded by darkness. And that’s probably why they’re the funniest. The deeper the pit, the more humor you need to dig yourself out of it.

I had AIDS, but I beat it with Advil.

God, do I hate my little fat tits. You ever pinch your little meat tits and wish you were dead? You ever just stand naked in the mirror. "You little fat-titted mediocre failure!" You ever do that for 3 hours on New Year's Eve.