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.

No, you can't go getting mad at people because they're shitty. Life will get mad at them, don't worry.

[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.

That woman was sexy. . . . Out of your league? Son, let women figure out why they won't screw you. Don't do it for them.

On My Last-Place Finish in the 50-Yard Dash During Little League Tryouts “It kinda looked like you were being attacked by a bunch of bees or something. Then when I saw the fat kid with the watch who was timing you start laughing…. Well, I’ll just say it’s never a good sign when a fat kid laughs at you.

You go ahead. I'd rather not be shot out of a tube into a pool filled with a bunch of nine-year-olds' urine.

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.