“I’m a closet sociopath. You can tell by all the skeletons I have hanging up next to my clothes.
”

“I have an iron deficiency. You can tell by how wrinkled my clothes are.”

“He’s pale, bald, and bony. He looks like a skeleton. And that, my friend, is precisely why I keep him in my closet.”

“My closet’s so full of memories and fearful homosexuals that I have nowhere to hang my clothes. Well, that and I don’t know how to tie a noose. I’m making meatloaf on a stick if you want to come over later and help me prosecute my entire wardrobe.”

“People don’t blush when they’re embarrassed. White people blush when they’re embarrassed. Why so embarrassed, white people? Any skeletons in your closet? Oh yeah, that’s right—we’ve got more skeletons in our closet than anybody.”

“In my closet I have boxes and boxes of secrets. These boxes are all empty, and that’s how you know they’re filled with secrets.”

“There’s no room in my life for a woman. I mean I live in a closet, and I suppose I could squish my clothes over and she could squeeze in, but where is she supposed to put her clothes? And her shoes, what about her shoes?”