Generation to generation, these pseudo-revolutionaries could never handle not being the cool kids. Something was always wrong. No sense of humor, no sense of self, just anger, vitriol, and misery.

I find myself in social situations often where I think of a response to something someone has just said and it’s just too good not to say it. More often than not, it’s something rude or offensive or disturbing. Always funny or poignant, though. And very rarely something I actually feel.

This is more disturbing than a woman with short hair wearing a dress.

My type? What, a female between eighteen and sixty?

Whatever happens, whatever her final words are to me, I won't turn into one of those pricks who badmouth their exes out of boredom and bitterness. I'll cherish the time we had together. That's what's up. You know damn well it was a great time, stop the faking.

I think you were going to stop the Black Plague armed with one guard, one mad scientist, a rubber man, and a synthetic rat.

All of a sudden I'm inside the pimple realizing how grotesque this middle period is in a pimple's life. Before the white gunk emerges, when the pimple is half-internal, half-external. Veins from inside your face taking on a new shape, circling around the round ball like deranged earthworms.

I kept that thought in the background for a long time. It sort of just lingered there. The kind of thought that can apply to other situations, too. Like when you’re going to cheat on somebody. You know something’s going to happen and you can’t say it out loud. But you know that if you follow a certain line, it’ll come true and you’ll be free of most culpability in making it happen.

You can tell he never even considered the possibility of something like this happening to him. He's as out of his element hiring an investigator to snoop on his wife as he would be auditioning for a Russian ballet.

I'm a procrastinator and a lazy person by nature. However, I require the laziness for greatness.