I like French crossed sevens.

I don’t like Woody Harrelson’s 'green-tour-pot-smoking-caravan' movie, but I sure wish I had a enough money to start a lifestyle in a similar, non-documented way.

I am obsessed with Calvin Klein’s “Obsession”.

I still do not own a cell phone and pride myself on the fact.

Tightey-whiteys are never tight enough. As a matter of fact, wearing tight revealing briefs is the only thing I find attractive about the French Riviera beyond the booze and food - the gambling comes in to play, but far less than any of the preceding sticking points.

Two party political systems suck, as do most political systems on a global level. It is why I do not write about them too much (or at all) these days.

I like minimal make-up on a lady.

I am a firm believer that the colour of your hair should be relative to the colour of your vomit after a bender and never more extreme. Also, that the colour should reflect the bender that you choose.

Churches are great for bake sales and rummage events, but whenever you get more than four people discussing religion it usually leads to excess denial of reality and a bunch of pompous rubbish.

"There is a big difference  between kneeling down and bending over." - Frank Zappa.

Something has proved to me over the years that driving too fast only leads to short stops and tickets, and I am not referring to baseball games.

If your teeth are broken … FIX THEM DAMMIT! No one likes smelly, stinky gum holes or blackened monoliths of orifices! Finance, borrow or beg! Figure out your orthodontic responsibility to us all, before we bag and tag you!

Broken chairs remind us of how unsteady the reality around us may be. I recommend that everyone own a broken chair that they sit in, at least, once a week.

Sex is best received when it is wanted, but that is not necessarily when it happens or is needed. Life is about give and take and all you need is love; so just do it!

A long time ago I thought that existence was all about how you appeared, as if we were all floating out of a black hat on stage like a magical white rabbit being tugged up and out by the ears. I now know it is all about the shade of your doody and the regularity of it in conjunction with how it affects a work shift. No one likes to hear about your doody. Everyone likes to marvel over it. Everyone does it. Thus, poo is an integral part of being. Life is about shit.

Why do the corporate geniuses of the world constantly and consistently want to re-invent the wheel? We have had the wheel for a long time. We do not need another wheel. The one we have works. It is only the people that make square wheels work that really win any accolades, not the ones that keep playing with the circle.

Something is comforting about warm bodies. When will we realize that human reaction and interaction, on a physical basis, is an integral part of existance and that mental interaction via sound bytes is nominaly beneficial?

Some one needs to stop putting words like ‘gotten’ in the dictionary and focus more on interjections like ‘shanga-langa-langa-dang’ or ‘ramma-damna-ding-dong”. Do you have the number for Webster’s or Oxford?

Nothing beats wet crotch through a pair of jeans.

Cigarettes go with necessities - sex, food, booze, driving, coffee. When will they just break down and make a healthy cigarette that is not needed due to chemical dependency but wanted for the complimentary facet it holds in our world of consumption?

Someone once told me that “things have a way of working out”; is it faith or repetitiveness that leads us to the accepting of that clause or mantra?

When will Frank Zappa get his just-due recognition as a GOD?

When will everyone wake up and finally give ‘Weird Al” Yankovic a star on the walk of fame and a well deserved nook and crany at the hall of fame?

Did you know that the former Soviet Union had eleven time zones?

Sure Unscented is my brand and I will stand by that white, pasty rubbish till they bury my ass.

It is easier when the world is silent, but it makes more sense when we all talk. This only is destroyed when ill intentions and miscalculations bleed through into our dialogues. The latter is far too predominant to dismiss the prototypical.

All of a sudden, I re-read and felt like I was 17.

Yes, the seven was crossed like the legs of a Catholic school girl.

Something tells me that it is waning; this double job reality, this grind of gorges.

My mind wraps hard around now and makes days consume each other like bulimic whores.

Bring back Zappa!

Dig him up and make him play with Yankovic.

Someone make something change.

Take me to bed and tickle my fancy -

Fancy that …