Picture it in your mind's nostril: you get in a cab in time to catch twin thugs named Vomit and Cologne assaulting a defenseless pine-tree air freshener.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
When you get to know someone, you find there's something nasty in their woodshed.
Is that your final answer? Here in New York garbage men, bus drivers, taxi cab drivers, bus drivers, whoever, you know, people just yell it out to me. So that was a lot of fun.
I don't want to be in a position that could make me vomit, like air travel. I've purloined airsick bags and stuffed them everywhere, just in case I ever feel the need to throw up. I haven't vomited since 1977, but I think about it all the time. I recognize that it's irrational, but I'd rather jump out of a window than vomit.
I throw a Christmas party at my house. It's not really a Christmas party, because I don't want to call it a Christmas party. But let's just say I put a lot of Christmas trees around the house, so it smells good.
When there's not ten feet of snow on the ground, I ride my bike down the streets of New York, and I literally hear two things out of car windows as cabs pass by me: They either yell, 'Hey, dummy,' or 'Hey, Mayhem.'
Shoulder the sky, my lad, and drink your ale.
It was dog food. Beef livers with onions in a can. You open it up and it looks like vomit.
I've got this horrible feeling that I'm one of those people who'll always have to flog their guts out to get anywhere.
Everyone is obsessed with air fresheners. We associate smell with disgust. But we're all locked into the body; we can't escape it.
Well, I don't throw things. This particular night I brought one from the floor so to speak, and he ended up getting a cut over his head, and the police came, took him to another side of the hotel, and that was like September 6, 1981.