I'm bi-winning. I win here and I win there. Now what? If I'm bipolar, aren't there moments where a guy like crashes in the corner like, 'Oh my God, it's all my mom's fault!' Shut up! Shut up! Stop! Move forward.

Defeat is not an option. They picked a fight with a warlock.

I'm tired of pretending I'm not special. I'm tired of pretending I'm not a total bitchin' rock star from Mars. People can't figure me out. They can't process me. I don't expect them to. You can't process me with a normal brain.

I'm sorry, man, but I've got magic. I've got poetry in my fingertips. Most of the time - and this includes naps - I'm an F-18, bro. And I will destroy you in the air. I will deploy my ordinance to the ground.

I am on a drug. It's called Charlie Sheen. It's not available because if you try it once you will die. Your face will melt off and your children will weep over your exploded body. It's too much.

Clearly I have defeated this earthworm with my words - imagine what I would have done with my fire breathing fists.

Let me say this about the Goddesses, I don't think the term is good enough, but when you're bound by these terrestrial descriptions, you must use the best term available. So if you think about it, dude, I'm 0-for-3 in marriage, but like in baseball, the scoreboard doesn't lie. Never has. So what we all have is a marriage of the hearts. And to sully, contaminate, or radically disrespect this unit with a shameful contract is something I'll leave to the amateurs and bible grippers.

I blinked and I cured my brain. Can't is the cancer of happen.

There's one side to me and it's gnarly.

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