“Early on I set out to write the next Great American Novel, and then later on I set out the silverware and enjoyed my dinner in silence.”

“I decide to go outside to enjoy the weather. Out of the corner of my eye I see Thor pushing an empty wheelbarrow, and I wonder if it’s some sort of thought experiment. Either he just got done dumping mulch in the back yard, or this is a great set up for a Zen koan.”

“Some men eat dinner with silverware. Some use chopsticks. I prefer zippers.”

“I want to gather up all the ink cartridges in the universe, because somewhere, mixed in with all that ink, is the next great American novel. And I’d love nothing more than to drink it.”

“To keep my cat from drinking out of the toilet, I could close the toilet lid, I could close the bathroom door, or I could pull my straw out of the water and stop setting a bad example.”

“I’m a miner, and I’m always dirty, because I’m constantly digging. Am I shoveling for gold? Hardly. I’m unearthing this hearty land searching for the next great American novel. If I dig deep enough, I’m sure to find it.”

“When I write I am an avocado, and in a team sport setting, I am guacamole. And not to sour cream on your dreams, but with my love life, I am a nacho.”