“I punched him 14 times in the face, and he didn’t even try to hit me back. He wasn’t a pacifist, but he was already as dead as a slab of meat.”

“My day starts like a regular guy’s. I wake up, drink raw eggs, run around Philadelphia, and punch raw slabs of meat. Wait, that’s not my story—that’s Rocky’s. I get us confused all the time.”

“When I didn’t know him I punched him in the face. The best part about him is his nose.”

“I gave him a pet name, even though he wasn’t my pet, he was my boss. I don’t know why he fired me. I thought “Dick Nose” was a delightfully cute name.”

“His name was Tom Tombstone, and if he had a middle name it was probably Death. But I didn’t call him Tom, or even Mr. Tombstone, because he introduced himself as Robert Winston. And I wondered how this stranger could shake my hand, look me in the eye, smile, and expect me to believe such a bold-faced lie?”

“When I found him lying in the ditch holding a shovel, I thought he was sleeping on the job. Turns out he was being even lazier, and he was in fact dead. 
”

“He wore red, white, and blue, but he didn’t look patriotic—he looked like a sloppily wrapped birthday present. But it’s not his fault. I tried to wrap him as tight as I could without restricting movement.”