“Basically, that's why I wrote: to save my ass, to save my ass from the madhouse, from the streets, from myself.”

“Writing was never work for me. It had been the same for as long as I could remember: turn on the radio to a classical music station, light a cigarette or a cigar, open the bottle. The typer did the rest. All I had to do was be there. The whole process allowed me to continue when life itself offered very little, when life itself was a horror show. There was always the typer to soothe me, to talk to me, to entertain me, to save my ass. Basically that's why I wrote: to save my ass, to save my ass from the madhouse, from the streets, from myself.”

“- Did you really save the world ?...- Mostly I was saving my own ass. Just happend that the world was in the same spot.”

“Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it saved my ass.”

“I was still alive. Ha! Take that kidnappers. Still alive. Maybe it was my butt that was feeding me. I always thought it was kind of round. I bet my body was eating up all the fat stores from my butt now. Yeah. See, having a big ass is a good thing. Good, good, good. They should put that in magazines. Why diet? Why stay thin? If you ever get kidnapped and left for dead, your fat ass could save your life!”

“I snorted, pulling myself in and already knowing what Jenks thought pixies did first best. And it wasn’t saving my ass like he told everyone.”