When You Pass Through The

Research, Research, Research. It Means Everything.

I'm Too Old To Do Things By Half

The Sickness Of The Mother Runs On Through The Girl, Leaving Her Small And Helpless. Liquor Flies Through Her Brain With The Force Of A Gun, Leaving Her Running In Circles.

It Always Bothers Me To See People Writing Rip When A Person Dies. It Just Feels So Insincere And Like A Cop Out. To Me, Rip Is The Microwave Dinner Of Posthumous Honours.

I'll Tell Ya, I'm A Genuinely Nice Guy. I Really Am. A Real Nice Guy. But I Think I'm Temperamental.