“I cleaned out my belly button last night, and I found the meaning of life. Gosh, I wonder how long it’s been hidden there.”

“I meant to spend the day writing, but instead I spent the afternoon cleaning out my belly button. Historians will thank me one day.”

“I have a container full of yelling I keep in my kitchen. It makes a great cleaning product, as it’s wonderfully abrasive.”

“I ran over a dog last night on my way home, and then I wondered what my wife had made for dinner. The two events are disappointingly not connected. Ah, but that’s life, no?”

“I was reminded of my ex girlfriend the other day. It’s amazing that something as simple as a first and last name, identical to hers, could remind me of her. I wonder how Zelda McFelda is doing thee days.”

“Where was I last night? I don’t remember myself. I mean I remember me—I didn’t suffer from an out-of-body experience—but I myself don’t remember. I remember being there, but not where there was, or being a being—I just was—I was simply existing and I wasn’t focusing on is or how or why, and certainly not where or when. I hope this clarifies the issue for you. I think I’ve been more than helpful.”

“Last night as I was driving home, I ran over a guy in a wheelchair. But it’s OK—he was already paralyzed.”