Memories are bullets. Some whiz by and only spook you. Others tear you open and leave you in pieces.

I've come a long way to get nowhere at all, I thought. And I've spent everything I have to get here.

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.

Besides, do you think you would have come if I’d just popped into your tattoo shop one night around closing and said, ‘Hello, I’m the Prince of Darkness. Think you could help me out with a little war next Tuesday, say, sixish?

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

That's what Glocks are. High-precision killing machines that scream "Daddy Issues.

The ashes of your existence will fertilize the soil for the universe to follow.