The simple fact remains, you fucked me and you didn’t want to have anything to do with me. That doesn’t sit well with the ladies.

I never intended to be famous, but I do like being the center of attention. It feels just like I thought it would… totally fucking great.

“Rome is burning”, he said, as he poured himself another drink. “Yet here I am, knee-deep in a river of pussy. Here it comes,” she thought, “another self-indulgent, whiskey-soaked diatribe about how fucking great everything was in the past and how all us poor souls born too late to see the Stones at wherever or snort the good coke like they had at studio 54.” Well, we had all just missed out on practically everything worth living for. And the worst part was, she agreed with him. “Here we are,” she thought, “at the edge of the world, the very edge of western civilization, and all of us are so desperate to feel something, anything, that we keep falling into each other and fucking our way towards the end of days.”

Right, there you were, just minding your own business, walking down Abbot Kinney when your dick fell in me. Oopsie.

Hank wrote a new book? Well, fuck me running!

Well, maybe I’m in the minority here, but I just don’t think there’s anything sick and wrong about a little fucking and punching between consenting adults.

Question: does the carpet match the drapes, Hanky-panky?

I’m not interested in the opinion of someone whose cultural significance went out with Hammer pants.

Why would I wanna get to know a guy who’s so in love with himself that he hangs out in a bookstore reading his own work.

I was in danger of being bored to death.