If Sam didn't sue Award Pictures I sure as shit would have. Those bastards stole my idea of stealing from Sam to make an Evil Dead sequel. So, good for you, Sam, not letting those bastards do what I was going to do to you.

Groove Holmes is a constant in my life - on my cell phone, in the car, and even as a homemade doorbell chime. The Boys made awesome sounds.

I would love to be involved with a Michael Bay production… as an arsonist.

There is nothing so irritating as the middle-distance. Commit to near or far, fer fuck sake!

Your drawn out, droning, precise, sincere, tedious, vapid, wall flowery comment is exactly what sucks about Foo Fighters and everything else, today. Fuck the timid. Fuck the polite. Fuck the nice. Fuck the whole fucking goddamn fucking world of shit…

My womanly part - my steakflower - is all aflutter.

My citrus fetish leads me to some very dark places… the frig with the door closed.

GORGOROTH or… ABBA? (Yeah, I know, ABBA is Swedish, you goddamn fact monkey. OK, how 'bout Gaute Ormåsen? Now we good?)

"I'm not a doctor, but I see one at least every 3 days for maintenance on this horrendously grotesque disfigurement that is my face."

I don't respond well to Dave Grohl's brand of rock stardom. He's just not, um, grungy enough. He needs to kill someone or be killed, then I might take a shine to him.

I am new to interweb communications. Could you kindly educate me on the technique of linking a page to my own comment verbiage, as you have thoughtfully done with your cruel link to the page with the tragicaly distressing statistics for Van Helsing.

For the gritty reboot of the Sean O'Neal franchise I propose Lena Dunham to star as the verbally fluid self conscious interweb scribe of ironic, snarky media focused blurbs. And to direct? Frank Henenlotter.

My mental health adviser (my kitty cat, Mr. Fuckles) is what prevents me from experiencing that shit fest tv show, though I normally celebrate our nation's cultural abominations with twisted, morbid pleasure. The high pitched shrill spastic warbling disturbs Mr. Fuckles. Thanks for nothing, Adam Levine.

ICP make music?

My best performances have all been delivered after bedtime.

Frontline is my preferred reality show. The scripted parts are a bit awkward and dry, but the bitchy, two faced, back stabbing antics are just so deeply satisfying.

YEAH, UM, HULK GONNA NEED YOU TO MOVE DESK TO BASEMENT. UM,YEAH, HULK THINK THAT BE GREAT…

"I don't know anything about comics…"

E! has been my go to network for surefire, can't fail, guaranteed assurance that civilization is about 13 minutes from total, utter collapse.

Like a Judd Apatow character.