I’m collector of stuff that people make with their brain. I keep them in little jars and I take them out and play with them sometimes too. The stuff, not the people.

There once was a man from Des MoinesWhose wife was always annoyedHe stepped in the kitchenShe started her bitchin’Now that fucking cunt is dead.

What can I say? I’m like a playground water fountain, I live to wet people’s pants.

If I self-loathe with any more passion, I will spontaneously combust.