“One day I was on a walk with him and my dog, Angus, who was sniffing around in a bush outside a neighbor’s house. My dad turned to me and said, “Look at the dog’s asshole.”“What? Why?”“You can tell by the dilation of his asshole that he’s going to shit soon. See. There it goes.”It was at that moment, as my dog emptied his bowels in my neighbor’s yard and my dad stood there proudly watching his prediction come true, that I realized how wise, even prophetic, he really is.”

“Eventually my dad got home from work and set his briefcase down.'So. How was practice?' he asked'It was good. Why? Did you hear it wasn't?' I said, trying to keep my cool.'Son, no offense, but you play Little League. It's not the Yankees. I don't get daily reports about who's hitting the shit out of the ball”

“On Sharing“I’m sorry, but if your brother doesn’t want you to play with his shit, then you can’t play with it. It’s his shit. If he wants to be an asshole and not share, then that’s his right. You always have the right to be an asshole—you just shouldn’t use that right very often.”

“Even though I grew up two hours south, I had rarely ventured to Los Angeles. I soon learned that my dad wasn't totally off base when he said, "Los Angeles is like San Diego's older, uglier sister that has herpes." . . . "Remember. Family," he said. "Also, how do I get back to I-5? I hate this fucking city.”

“You're going to run into jerk-offs, but remember: It's not the size of the asshole you worry about, it's how much shit comes out of it.”

“On Proper Etiquette for Borrowing His Car “You borrowed the car, and now it smells like shit. I don’t care if you smell like shit, that’s your business. But when you shit up my car, then that’s my business. Take it somewhere and un-shit that smell.”

“In the fall of 1998, I began my freshman year at San Diego State University, which my dad commonly referred to as 'Harvard, without all the smart people.”