Turn off your computer and go out of doors. Dig a large enough hole to transplant a mature apple tree. Nurture the tree, feed it, coddle it so that its fruit will be ample, bright and firm. Practice open-hand strikes against the rough bark of the trunk until it's time to harvest. Choose the champion of your apple crop, pluck it from the tree, and beat yourself about the face and tits with it until your mettle will suffice.

I have a wonderfully hedonistic appetite, and if I wasn't really strict with myself, I'd weigh 300 pounds. I'm not good with moderation.

I'm opposed to a lot of the time that we as a civilization have come to spend looking at screens. For my money, life is much delicious damn near everyplace but inside that screen.

The world is split into two halves: the bacon, and the bacon eaters.

When I got my job on Parks, it was so dreamy, kind of unfathomable. I didn't think a job that excellent could exist for me.

You know, it's hard to beat bacon at anytime of day. But I also am a big fan of corned beef hash.

I awaken. I consume oxygen, then bacon, eggs and black coffee, then my wife, then bacon.