I should call myself four market Norton. I'm great in Boston and Cleveland. I do good in Phillie, New Jersey.

I'd rather hug Magic Johnson after he rolled around in barbed wire.

I don't have kids. That's why I leave it in the dumper or in the mouth, because I hate kids.

Two men spit in their hands, help each other out, then laugh about it later. Just to be silly.

What's the name of the birth defect you have, trampled by a horse during the 2nd trimester?

Get a in clothes dryer with Magic Johnson and some razorblades.

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.