When you're born in a burning house, you think the whole world is on fire. But it's not.

When you're born in a burning house, you think the whole world is on fire. But it's not.

The universe is a meat grinder and we're just pork in designer shoes, keeping busy so we can pretend we're not all headed for the sausage factory. Maybe I've been hallucinating this whole time and there is no Heaven and Hell. Instead of having to choose between God and the devil, maybe our only real choice comes down to link or patty?

The dead think they can get away with anything because you'll feel sorry for them. If you play cards with the dead, make sure you deal and don't let them buy you drinks. They'll slip you a formaldehyde roofie and pry the gold fillings out of your teeth.

The place looks like where David Lynch would meet Beaver Cleaver's mom for secret afternoons of bondage and milkshakes.

Try not to sing too many sad songs for yourself. The universe already hates you. Self-pity isn't going to help.

If Donald Trump and the Wicked Witch of the West had a kid, it would be Jayne-Anne. She looks like a librarian with some money and good taste in clothes but underneath the Verace, she's Godzilla with tits.