"4:00, wallow in self-pity; 4:30, stare into the abyss; 5:00, solve world hunger, tell no one; 5:30, jazzercize; 6:30, dinner with me—I can’t cancel that again; 7:00, wrestle with my self-loathing… I’m booked. Of course, if I bump the loathing to 9, I could still be done in time to lay in bed, stare at the ceiling and slip slowly into madness."

He's a pedantic pontificating pretentious bastard, a belligerent old fart a worthless steaming pile of cow dung.

I'd hate to take a bite out of you... You're a cookie full of arsenic!