“He opens a giant can of fruit cocktail and pours it in. He opens a can of some Asian vegetable—water chestnuts, maybe—and pours that in, too. “This is the China people and queers!!!” he screams and takes his sledgehammer to the thing with a fury that is no fun at all. Wet chunks of China people and queers fly everywhere. The hateful, bitter old man laughs. I cannot believe Bill Hicks is dead and this motherfucker is still touring.”—
“You don’t like that your coworker used me on that note about stealing her yogurt from the break room fridge? You don’t like that I’m all over your sister-in-law’s blog? You don’t like that I’m on the sign for that new Thai place? You think I’m pedestrian and tacky? Guess the fuck what, Picasso. We don’t all have seventy-three weights of stick-up-my-ass Helvetica sitting on our seventeen-inch MacBook Pros.”—I’m Comic Sans, Asshole.
"Terrorists, he continues, target ordinary citizens, or, when they kill soldiers, their attacks don’t take place on the field of battle. That’s a convenient tautology: if any conventional government decides to pound a village to dust, it’s a field of battle; if a villager kills a soldier in the exact same spot before the invasion commences, that’s terrorism."
"I guess there was tons of sexism, but … I was like, ‘Eh, that’s nice you wanted to grab my ass, and you just did grab my ass, but once you leave, I’m puttin’ up the two-track tape, and I’m going to dump Rolling Stones songs to it, and I’m going to edit them. … I’m going to teach myself to edit tonight, after you grabbed my ass. I don’t care — you’re stupid and ugly and fat. Too bad for you.”