6 AM. The sky glows. Somewhere a bird chirps. I want to shoot it.
This is a car that allows you to adjust the temperature of your ass.
I'm not mad that you got mad when I got mad when you said I should go drop dead.
Michael tries to think of a name for a fat substitute
In one week I'll be thirty. Three-zero. Older than my Dad was when I was born. Older than Napoleon was when he ... did something that was probably extremely impressive at the time – I'm not a historian. I'm a composer. Sorry, a "promising young composer." I should have kids of my own by now, a career, but instead I've been "promising" for so long I'm afraid I'm starting to break the fucking promise.