I'm now unemployed. It's a weird feeling with no work, but at least there's still golf. Standup comedy is like my core, it's what I do. But I want to be a pro golfer. It's a love/hate relationship with golf. I can come away feeling so serene, and yet, it's the thing that I can let get to me to throw a club and say curses that don't even exist. I'm obsessed with something that won't let me master it. I don't know. I need therapy.

I like doing film, you know, single-camera.

The married man has all but eliminated that worry from his life, simply because his wife knows all about him: the good, the bad, and the tiny.

Whenever I walk off the golf course, I thank God that I'm able to tell a joke. I thank God I'm good at something.

I still feel like an immature idiot inside, but I look in the mirror and - as a friend of mine once said- this old guy keeps getting in the way.

I can't complain about my career, that's for sure.

Nothing like a little chest pain to restore your faith.