Don't Ask Me, I Don't Know

Killing A Pig For A Good Old Fry-up Is One Thing. But There's No Excuse For Being Cruel, Even If You're A Bored Teenage Kid.

I'll Only Retire In The Day I Should Be Dead And They Have Me Buried, And Some Idiot Spell Over My Casket Some Stupid Gospel Stuff.

Every Shopaholic Needs An Accomplice.

My Stay In Camp Betty Was The Longest I'd Been Without Drink Or Drugs In My Adult Life. [...] At First, They Put Me In A Room With A Guy Who Owned A Bowling Alley, But He Snored Like An Asthmatic Horse, So I Moved And Ended Up With A Depressive Mortician. [...] The Mortician Snored Even Louder Than The Bowling Alley Guy - He Was Like A Moose With A Tracheotomy.

Mental Wounds Not Healing, Who And What's To Blame. I'm Going Off The Rails On A Crazy Train.