I stop and think what they call "punk rock" today...give me a break! Let me know when they can walk in the vapor trail of Little Richard, which was punk. You've got a gay black guy with a pompadour singing about tutti frutti with your white girl. Fuck you.

I know we just met today, but I gotta see you tomorrow. I know this is our first date, I don't expect you to swallow.

I do media every day I tour and the travel itself is a bit testing, so I don't get to do much gregarious activity when I'm on the road, but I do enough barbequing and enough hanging out and training with enough law enforcement and military to keep me bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and to make sure my guitar solos every night breath fire.

Everybody I hang with - the ranchers, the farmers, the cops, the teachers, the plumbers, everybody I hang with - they've got an alarm clock. They get up, they put their heart and their soul into being the very best that they can be. They want to be an asset to their families and their neighborhood. They want to be productive members of society.

I didn't invent the middle finger, but I perfected the use of it.

I'm not in the leftist controlled Rock and Roll Hall of Fame because of my political views, primarily my lifelong militant support of the NRA, the Second Amendment, and my belief that the only good bad guy is a dead bad guy.

Brilliant thoughts flow with a life of their own to a dedicated reasoning predator up in a tree with a bow and arrow half the year meditating soulfully in anticipation to kill unsuspecting meat-infested herbivores.