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