Tourist man: Pardon me, officer, can you tell us where Orchard Street is?
Cop: See that naked Chinese guy?
Tourist man: Ummm...Yeah.
Cop: Walk down to him and make a left.

"I just—Christ, I just need a goddamn minute, you know?" he said.

I think the poem’s pretty hot, probably the best poem in the English language since “Song of Myself.”

Human rights groups and journalists have documented hundreds of cases of detainee abuse from Guantanamo, Afghanistan, and Iraq since early 2002.

How am I getting by on a little over two hours of sleep? Right now, I'm completely hopped up on caffeine pills and Mountain Dew, the drink of champions. It's a good little life that I've got going here.

God, I miss Seattle.

To my ears, "ultramontane" sounds like the title of the next Morrissey CD.

"I promise the American people that I will not abuse this new power, unless it becomes necessary to grant myself the power to do so at a later time."

Sucks is the most concise, emphatic way we have to say something is no good.

What the hell? Does no one respect the fist tap?