Well, it's possible to be mentally ill and rational.

There are plenty of fish in the sea, if I run out of women.

If we couldn't carry our dead inside us, we would be empty.

I want to make something, and I want people to know I made it.

I have a form of ESP that allows me to consistently pick losing lottery numbers, and generally make poor life choices.

Dear Nintendo, We need a new Mario game, where you rescue the princess in the first ten minutes, and for the rest of the game you try and push down that sick feeling in your stomach that she’s ‘damaged goods’, a concept detailed again and again in the profoundly sex negative instruction booklet, and when Luigi makes a crack about her and Bowser, you break his nose and immediately regret it. When Peach asks you, in the quiet of her mushroom castle bedroom ‘do you still love me?’ you pretend to be asleep. You press the A button rhythmically, to control your breath, keep it even.

Having all the answers just means you've been asking boring questions.