Some friends of mine got me a sweater for my birthday. I'd have preferred a moaner or a screamer, but the sweater was OK.

When I was a little kid we had a sand box. It was a quicksand box. I was an only child... eventually.

The lady across the hall tried to rob a department store . . . with a pricing gun. She said, "Give me all of the money in the vault, or I'm marking down everything in the store."

I was once arrested for resisting arrest.

I was reading the dictionary. I thought it was a poem about everything.

Whatever happened to preparations A through G?

I just have a relationship with my imagination. It's like my friend, almost.