When life ends up breathtakingly f*****, you can generally trace it back to one big, bad decision. The one that sent you down the road to S***sburg.
You need to seriously ease up on the bedazzling. They’re jeans, not a chandelier.
You don’t need to be a superhero to get the girl. The right girl will bring out the hero in you.
The worst part about cancer isn’t what it does to you. But what it does to the people you love.
I had a Liam Neeson nightmare. I dreamt I kidnapped his daughter and he just wasn’t having it. They made 3 of those movies. At some point, you’d have to wonder if he’s just a bad parent.
Life is an endless series of train wrecks with only brief commercial-like breaks of happiness.
Here’s the problem with round-the-clock torture, is that you can’t really step it up from there.
Cancer’s only in my liver, lungs, prostate, and brain. All things I can live without.
You bet on me to die. Wow. Motherf*****, you’re the world’s worst friend. Well, joke’s on you. I’m living to 102. And then die. At the city of Detroit.
Threats hurt, Jer. Though not nearly as badly as serrated steel.
Looks are everything! Ever heard David Beckham speak? It’s like he mouth-sexed a can of helium. You think Ryan Reynolds got this far on a superior acting method?
I was rounding up all the gluten in the world and launching it into space where it can’t not hurt us ever again.
