“I’ll stab you with a pointy thingy. Not a sword, a knife, or even a mountaintop. No, I’ll use my index finger—and just to make a point about violence.”

“Sometimes I’ll forget a utensil’s name, and I’ll say, “Give me that pointy thing,” as I point with my pointy finger.”

“Are you angry? Punch a pillow. Was it satisfying? Not hardly. These days people are too angry for punching. What you might try is stabbing. Take an old pillow and lay it on the front lawn. Stab it with a big pointy knife. Again and again and again. Stab hard enough for the point of the knife to go into the ground. Stab until the pillow is gone and you are just stabbing the earth again and again, as if you want to kill it for continuing to spin, as if you are getting revenge for having to live on this planet day after day, alone.”

“Sometimes I’ll be walking along, thinking, and I’ll kick up some dust and I’ll say, Whoa! That makes sense, and I’ll have just had an epiphany, and then forget all about it because I’ll get distracted by my dirty shoes.”

“I’ll make fun of him, but I’ll call him Him, because if I use his name I’ll immortalize him. After all, who is he? He’s merely my clone.”

“Those swords are mine! Touch them and I’ll use ‘em to slice off your nut sack! For a coin purse!”