It begins when he’s still a man in a suit, doing the kinds of boring things that men in suits do. The things that no one writes about because they know that boys don’t really have nightmares about clowns or three-eyed tentacled beasts that rise f...
Lucius: Honey? Honey: What? Lucius: Where's my super suit? Honey: What? Lucius: Where - is - my - super - suit? Honey: I, uh, put it away. [helicopter explodes outside] Lucius: *Where*? Honey: *Why* do you *need* to know? Lucius: I need it! [Lucius r...
I look really good in a scuba suit.
I'm most comfortable in my birthday suit.
The mercantile business did not suit me.
A man always looks good in a dark suit.
Sometimes I put on a black scuba suit and go walking on the beach, to relax. If I could, I’d sleep in a scuba suit—on a waterbed. Not that I actually ever get in the ocean. Too many dangerous things in the water, like barracudas, sharks, and of c...
I want to gather up all the ink cartridges in the universe, because somewhere, mixed in with all that ink, is the next great American novel. And I’d love nothing more than to drink it.
If it’s not already written, I want to write a book called, “The Art of Raw.” But instead of using my real name, I’ll use the pseudonym, “Sun Tzushi.
In a brave and noble way, I want to sacrifice my life one day so that two of my clones can live.
I want to write a song about one man's level of commitment called, "I'd walk to the edge of the world, just to dump your body.
I want to possess enough courage to fill a Campbell’s soup can. And then I want to use my courage to feed the homeless. Isn’t courage not only filling, but delicious?
I want to be a creature that’s half bee, half the letter B. That way I can pollinate the world with my literacy.
I want to replace my knees with miniature Rube Goldberg machines. That way you'll know how difficult it is for me to simply walk out of your life.
I want to remember our fallen heroes. And after I’ve spent a day remembering them, I want to extend my arm and help them up.
I want to have breasts the size of Florida, so that people might see me at Ponte Vedra beach and gasp, “Look at the size of his Naples!
I want to put silencers on all guns. That way war will be nothing more than a whisper in the future. And all those who are caught whispering will be shot.
I want to make love like the most romantic thing ever, but I just don’t know how to go about learning how to fornicate like a flower.
I want to laugh hysterically into a bucket of water, have my humor imprinted on each water molecule and then drink the funniest drink ever.
I want to write a short story where the protagonist is a globe, and all the secondary, or “flat” characters, are all maps. It’ll be a story about boundaries.
I've been able to reach from the streets to the suites.