Our Real Discoveries Come From Chaos.

Look Up At The Stars And You're Gone.

We're All Trapped. It's Always 1734. All Of Us, We're Stuck In The Same Time Capsule, The Same As Those Television Shows Where The Same People Are Marooned On The Same Desert Island For Thirty Seasons And Never Age Or Escape. They Just Wear More Makeup. In A Creepy Way, Those Shows Are Maybe Too Authentic.

We Don't Need Women. There Are Plenty Other Things In The World To Have Sex With, Just Go To A Sexaholics Meeting And Take Notes. There's Microwaved Watermelons. There's The Vibrating Handles Of Lawn Mowers Right At Crotch Level. There's Vacuum Cleaners And Beanbag Chairs. Internet Sites. All Those Old Chat Room Sex Hounds Pretending To Be Sixteen-year-old Girls. For Serious, Old Fbi Guys Makes The Sexiest Cyberbabes.

If Marilyn Monroe Was Alive Right Now, What Would She Be Doing?' Clawing At The Roof Of Her Coffin.

I Admire Addicts. In A World Where Everybody Is Waiting For Some Blind, Random Disaster Or Some Sudden Disease, The Addict Has The Comfort Of Knowing What Will Most Likely Wait For Him Down The Road. He's Taken Some Control Over His Ultimate Fate, And His Addiction Keeps The Cause Of His Death From Being A Total Surprise.