Your Mother Was A Hamster And You

Come To Me. I Want To Plow You Like A Calgary Driveway At Christmas.

I Would Like To Do My Own Eulogy, And Then Shoot Myself And Then Get In The Coffin.

Your Mother Was A Hamster And You Father Smelled Of Elder Berries.

I Don't Miss London Much. I Find It Crowded, Vast And Difficult To Get Around. Cabs Are Incredibly Expensive.

Political Correctness Is A Bit Like A Granny, A Maiden Aunt Arriving At A Party When Everyone's Having A Good Time. And She Comes In, They All Start Sort Of Buttoning Up And Becoming Self-conscious And Behaving Properly And Then When She Leaves, You Can Have Fun Again.