Ah, these spirits that taunt me, what do they know about fear? You can drive a man to desperation, but you cannot kill a desperate man. No, that privilege is reserved for the desperate man himself. Blessed is the man who combs his ego with his cock and hides his fear behind the semen of his intellect. You've heard it here before: let that man build a better coffin, but if I die, don't give me a proper burial. I don't care if I am six feet under, six inches on top, or six weeks overdue, cosmetics melt easily once we're equalized.

The minute a human a professes to know anything is that person's first minute in hell.

While waiting for life that sucks to die, why not listen to my favorite unsigned bands: TQ's Garage Band Playlist.