I shot a vein in my neck and coughed up a quaalude.
That's why I survived because I still believe I've got something to say.
Plucked her eyebrows on the way, shaved her legs and then he was a she. She said, hey babe, take a walk on the wild side.
I don't like the word rock opera, but I'm trying to write on that level that's reserved for plays still, or novels.
Bodily changes take place, like the thing with the kick.
You know the expression 'God protects fools and drunks'? I qualify for both.