[The] majority of the girls working there had major emotional problems. And not cries-too-much emotional problems; more like stabs-her-boyfriend-with-a-steak-knife-then-falls-into-a-corner-and-starts-whispering-to-herself emotional problems.

Eventually, though, I came to the conclusion that I was the male equivalent of a Toyota Camry. You know: No one ever says, "I have to have a Toyota Camry." But most people who spend some time in a Camry start to like it. "It's pretty reliable," they think. "It doesn't have a lot of problems, and it's not bad to look at. You know what? I'd probably prefer a nicer car. But I can live with a Camry.

You're like a tornado of bullshit right now. We'll talk again when your bullshit dies out over someone else's house.

You worry too much. Eat some bacon...what? No, I got no idea if it'll make you feel better, I just made too much bacon.

Why would you throw a ball in someone's face?...Huh. That's a pretty good reason. Well, I can't do much about your teacher being pissed, but me and you are good.

My parents had irrational fears of Mexico and assumed that once you crossed the border, drug runners made you swallow a heroin balloon and then within the hour you were in a bathtub full of ice and they were harvesting your kidneys.

There is no definitive guidebook on how to pick the right partner, and even if there were, I'm way too dumb to write it.