A lot of my life is eating soup with a fork

Huge red dirty wall fog

Oh, sod you!

I’d rather be dead than think about death

Drink chose me

Bars are the only sparks

Spouses, money, James Joyce, beer?

Give me my duff. And pour custard on it from a ladle

Bad publicity? Your own obituary

Ah, I never get no snout

I smoked my way half-way through the book of Genesis and three inches of my mattress

Old potatoes, cold