Warning: If you are reading this then this warning is for you. Every word you read of this useless fine print is another second off your life. Don't you have other things to do? Is your life so empty that you honestly can't think of a better way to spend these moments? Or are you so impressed with authority that you give respect and credence to all that claim it? Do you read everything you're supposed to read? Do you think every thing you're supposed to think? Buy what you're told to want? Get out of your apartment. Meet a member of the opposite sex. Stop the excessive shopping and masturbation. Quit your job. Start a fight. Prove you're alive. If you don't claim your humanity you will become a statistic. You have been warned.
I want you to hit me as hard as you can.
It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything.
On a long enough timeline, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero.
You're not your job.
You're not how much money you have in the bank.
You're not the car you drive.
You're not the contents of your wallet.
You're not your fucking khakis.
You're the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world.
When you have insomnia, you're never really asleep... and you're never really awake.
Listen up, maggots. You are not special. You are not a beautiful or unique snowflake. You're the same decaying organic matter as everything else.
I felt like destroying something beautiful.
It was beautiful. We were selling rich women their own fat asses back to them.
When people think you're dying, they really, really listen to you, instead of just...
- instead of just waiting for their turn to speak?
In the world I see
you are stalking elk through the damp canyon forests around the ruins of Rockefeller Center.
You'll wear leather clothes that will last you the rest of your life.
You'll climb the wrist-thick kudzu vines that wrap the Sears Tower.
And when you look down, you'll see tiny figures pounding corn, laying strips of venison on the empty car pool lane of some abandoned superhighway.
This is Bob. Bob had bitch tits.
The things you own end up owning you
God Damn! We just had a near-life experience, fellas.
A new car built by my company leaves somewhere traveling at 60 mph. The rear differential locks up. The car crashes and burns with everyone trapped inside. Now, should we initiate a recall? Take the number of vehicles in the field, A, multiply by the probable rate of failure, B, multiply by the average out-of-court settlement, C. A times B times C equals X. If X is less than the cost of a recall, we don't do one.
-Are there a lot of these kinds of accidents?
-You wouldn't believe.
- Which car company do you work for?
-A major one.
Did you know that if you mix equal parts of gasoline and frozen orange juice concentrate you can make napalm?
Now a question of etiquette; as I pass, do I give you the ass or the crotch...?
There are things about you that I like. You're smart, you're funny, you're... spectacular in bed... But you're intolerable! You have very serious emotional problems. Deep seated problems for which you should seek professional help.
Sticking feathers up your butt does not make you a chicken.
If I did have a tumor, I'd name it Marla.
Apart from seasoning the lobster bisque, he farted on the meringue, sneezed on braised endive, and as for the cream of mushroom soup, well... you get the idea.
I ran. I ran until my muscles burned and my veins pumped battery acid. Then I ran some more.
Without pain, without sacrifice, we would have nothing.
Well, I'm still here. But I don't know for how long. That's as much certainty as anyone can give me. But I've got some good news: I no longer have any fear of death. But... I am in a pretty lonely place. No-one will have sex with me. I'm so close to the end and all I want is to get laid for the last time. I have pornographic movies in my apartment, and lubricants, and amyl nitrite...
And then, something happened. I let go. Lost in oblivion. Dark and silent and complete. I found freedom. Losing all hope was freedom.
I felt like putting a bullet between the eyes of every Panda that wouldn't screw to save its species. I wanted to open the dump valves on oil tankers and smother all the French beaches I'd never see. I wanted to breathe smoke.
Hey, even the Mona Lisa's falling apart.
You met me at a very strange time in my life.
Life insurance pays off triple if you die on a business trip.
With a gun barrel between your teeth, you speak only in vowels.
A condom is the glass slipper for our generation. You slip one on when you meet a stranger. You dance all night, and then you throw it away. The condom, I mean, not the stranger.
We're consumers. We are by-products of a lifestyle obsession. Murder, crime, poverty, these things don't concern me. What concerns me are celebrity magazines, television with 500 channels, some guy's name on my underwear. Rogaine, Viagra, Olestra.
Self improvement is masturbation. Now self destruction...
We have just lost cabin pressure.
If I didn't say anything, people always assumed the worst.
You can swallow a pint of blood before you get sick.
When deep space exploration ramps up, it'll be the corporations that name everything, the IBM Stellar Sphere, the Microsoft Galaxy, Planet Starbucks.
I am Jack's smirking revenge.
I am Jack's cold sweat.
I am Jack's raging bile duct.
I am Jack's colon.
I am Jack's complete lack of surprise.
I am Jack's wasted life.
I am Jack's inflamed sense of rejection.
I am Jack's broken heart.
Fuck what you know.
You need to forget about what you know, that's your problem.
Forget about what you think you know about life, about friendship,
and especially about you and me.