Quotes by Hank Moody

There are some images you don’t want floating around your pretty little head. Trust me, it’s like a Mapplethorpe shoot in there, except with less cock.

Hang out with your wang out, but remember no gloving, no loving.

Girls know at once whether they want to fuck, marry, or kill a guy. Which begs the question: how am I doing?

“Life is complicated, man.” That’s what you got?

And you’re no Brett fucking Ratner. But that could be a compliment, and in that case, I didn’t mean to.

Once upon a time, I wrote a book. People seemed to dig it, so I wrote another and one after that. That’s when Hollywood came knocking at my back door. As soon as I cashed that check, I wrapped my lips around the mighty erection that is the film industry and sucked hard, just like a good whore should. Unfortunately, I had to be taught not to orphan the balls.

There’s nothing quite like getting stoned on the very bed that your ex-domestic partner shares with her fiancé. It’s the little things.

Well, instead of finding out that your husband was gay, you could’ve found out that he was a…scientologist or something like that. Or a Nazi. Or Al Qaeda.

Nobody likes you. You’re ugly and your mother dresses you funny. Now smile, you fucking douche.

Hell-A Magazine blog number one. Hank hates you all. A few things I’ve learned in my travels through this crazy little thing called life. One: a morning of awkwardness is far better than a night of loneliness. Two: I probably won’t go down in history, but I will go down on your sister. And three: while I’m down there, it might be nice to see a hint of pubis. I’m not talking about a huge’70s playboy bush or anything, just something that reminds me that I’m performing cunnilingus on an adult. But I guess the larger question is,  why is the city of angels so hell-bent on destroying its female population?

I think I just lost my manhood. And got hungry at the same time.

Funky back tat on the small of the back. You know what that means. She likes it in the pooper.

Your assistant makes me want to touch myself in a bad place.

Yes, and it might be nice if I could fellate myself while farting the white album, but I haven’t been able to quite master that yet.

You looking for a cock punch?

I’m a writer. Non practicing.

Now you’re giving me that look right now…look like I finger banged your cat.

I’m fine, I’m disgusted with my life and myself but I’m not unhappy about that. How are you?

Must be my trick ear but I thought you said “blog”.

I think we can all agree by and large that men are assholes.

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