I'm Too Conceited For Therapy.

Life, Like The Boring Drunk At The Office Party, Keeps Seeking You Out, Leaning On You, Killing You With Pointless Yarns And Laughing Bad-breathed In Your Face At Its Own Unfunny Jokes.

Nicotine And Alcohol Embraced In My System Like Long-parted Siblings, Grateful To Me For Reuniting Them.

Life Is Nothing But A Statement Of What Happens To Be.

Bliss Defies Description, Obviously, Since It Annihilates You, Since You're Not There To Experience It. You Get The Lead-up And The Come-down, Never The Zenith.

Your Ideal Possession Candidate's A Thirteen-year-old Recently Orphaned Schizophrenic Girl Three Days Away From Her Period On Her Way To See The Shrink With Whom She's Romantically Besotted.