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.

Mario you are a great chef but you look like a homeless James Gandolfini.

For the record, I hate skiing... and if you get killed doing it, GOOD.

My whole existence is spent just trying to not shove bad food in my fat face. It's like a constant struggle. I'll do really good for a while, and then I do bad, then I do really good.

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.

My job is to express who I am and what I hate about the country and what I love about it and what I hate about myself and what I love about myself and to make you laugh while I'm doing it.

They don't tend to feature the kind of vaginas I like in adult films. I tend to like a thick, heavy pussy - the kind of pussy that looks like it just smoked an exploding cartoon cigar.