“Right now I’m naked, like how my pizza comes out of the oven. I like my toppings like I like my women: topless. I love me some pepperoni.”

“I’m like Twain, Nietzsche, and Dali in that I have three mustaches. (I have two of them disguised as eyebrows). Women love men like me, like my clones.”

“Pepperoni looks so much like nipples that I can’t eat pizza without getting horny.”

“Tad they were too young to die…My Mom was a spitfire—a total accident waiting to happen. I’m like her—I can trip over nothing.” Tad chuckled acknowledging the thought. “My father…he was more serious. He used to give me lectures like no tomorrow, he had a strong sense of who I should be—who I wanted to be and how to guide me, and he was my best friend. It seems like everything I love is just out of my reach now.”

“I like my spaghetti like I like my women. All over my shirt.”

“I feel vulnerable. I I try to mask my emotions, but I feel like everyone knows what I’m thinking and feeling, and I don’t like it. I don’t like being an open book. I feel like I’m up on the stage, pouring my heart out to him, and it scares the hell out of me.”