People--stupid when they lived; potentially stupid when they died.

I raised another shot. "That sound you hear is the heads of moral conservatives spontaneously exploding in the distance.

Home is where the heart is or where you bury the ones you want to eat later.

Lies were like acid, corrosive: They could dissolve trust in a heartbeat.

I am your brother. I was supposed to be your brother before either of us was born. Karmic debt. It appears I was Vlad the Impaler or Genghis Khan in a past life.

Why is it always the world? Why is it never just half a block? Or Jersey? You know, something we could live without?

I have people in my life, of course. Some write; some don't. Some read; some don't. Some stare vacantly into space when I talk the geeky talk and walk the geeky walk, but they make killer chocolate chip pancakes and so all is forgiven.