I go into work and get my hair and makeup done, go into wardrobe. I have to do three hours of school a day.
That Hugh Laurie show is nothing but Scrubs fan fiction.
I was mad when I heard The Amazing Race wasn't about white people.
I don't mind it if blacks want equal rights, as long as they mean rights equal to a dog
First I took a crap on the hooker's chest, then I told her I'd pay her a thousand dollars to eat it. She was addicted to crack, so of course she did it. It was so gross, though, it made her throw up, so I said I'd pay her another thousand to lick all that up, too. She started to, but for some reason she started crying as she was doing it, saying, 'I went to college! I have a degree!' Oh man, it was hilarious. I don't know if it was technically sex because I just beat off on her face, but definitely one of my most intense orgasms.
The best way to travel abroad is to live with the locals.
I think there are bound to be obstacles in any path to success. I mean, I'm Jewish, and there's nothing I can do about that. Instead of sitting around and feeling sorry for myself, I got over it and did something with my life.
I am convinced after more than 50 years in the field of motivation that anyone who wants to learn to look at life andor their circumstances in a positive light can do so.
I was kind of feeling a spiritual need all those years. My wife Geraldine and I went to an Episcopalian Church for a while. Oh, it just seemed very political to me that a guy so liberal was talking about opposing the war in Vietnam and I didn't want to hear that when I went to church. I wanted something spiritual.
When I write a book, I put everything I have into it; so the more I have, the more the books become. Some people get freaked out by them: mostly the people who believe, mistakenly, that fantasy is about escaping reality. To them I say: If you have a problem with reality, you should be spending more time dealing with your life, and less time reading popcorn fantasy.
The jamaat was an almost silly mish-mash of people: Rude Dawud’s pork-pie hat poking up here, a jalab-and-turban there, Jehangir’s big Mohawk rising from a sea of kufis, Amazing Ayyub still with no shirt, girls scattered throughout – some in hejab, some not and Rabeya in punk-patched burqa doing her thing. But in its randomness it was gorgeous, reflecting an Islam I felt could not happen anywhere else. . . If Islam was to be saved, it would be saved by the crazy ones: Jehangir and Rabeya and Fasiq and Dawud and Ayyub and even Umar.