“My cat’s favorite chew toy is a pen. I’d wager that he is a better writer than me.”

“My favorite pen is my penis. Put my words in your mouth.”

“The guidance counselor convinces them I need a reward-a chew toy or something.”

“Bestseller doesn’t necessarily mean good writer. I think it takes 10,000 book sales to make the bestseller’s list, and at about 9 dollars a pop for my book, if I had an extra $90,000 dollars of disposable income, I’d be a bestseller tomorrow. But would I be a better writer? No, I’d be a poorer writer—about $75,000 dollars poorer.”

“I am a writer. The proof of how I am feeling is always in my pen.”

“You know,” he says, peeking inside the bag. “It’s okay. Because ham and cheese is my absolute favorite…and an apple? It’s like, the lunch of champions.” I stifle another yawn. “It doesn’t get much better than that, right?” “Only if you were eating with me,” he says.”