As a woman, there are just certain moments you'll never forget. The first time you make love. The first time you make rent. The first time you make bail. For me, I'll never forget the first time I read on the side of a bus, "This fall a woman will be president." It's pretty cool because I think the same thing happened to Malcolm X when he got the idea to do his Spike Lee movie.

I'm writing a new cookbook for vegans. It's going to be a best seller. The secret ingredient? Snausages.

I enjoy TV. Sometimes when I'm alone and it's late in the evening I like to watch "The Real World" and "Fantasy Island" at the same time. It's like the perfect equation. The only thing that's more mathematically precise is listening to Kelly Clarkson and Mingus simultaneously.

I am a music nut. Uncle Tupelo. Wilco, Sun Volt. But you know who makes the best insurgent country ever? The Iraqis, man. They tear it up.

Have you seen the new David Foster Wallace sex tape? Oh my God. That part where he stops to write a footnote? Classic.

For Christmas I'm getting everyone I know the special "American Pie" commemorative DVD box set. I have to say I do think it was a little tacky how they tied the whole thing together with one of Tara Reid's leftover nipple stitches. But what are you going to do? That's the industry for you.

At night sometimes when I'm falling asleep I'm not sure if I should pray or masturbate. So I try to do a little of both. That's just what I told the priest at confession the other day. He assigned me 10 Hail Marys but then he thought better of it and gave me something a little less erotic.

I was trying to read this Lester Bangs autobiography, but then I realized I'd like it better if I chopped it up, cooked it, and injected it directly into my bloodstream. And man. Can that guy write.

I Googled happiness the other day and all I got was a picture of an orangutan shitting in a bucket. But you know. At least I got an answer.

I have a real problem with anti-Semitism. That's why I'm naming my first born Adolf Goldenstein. Take that, Third Reich. You ain't so big now, are you?

Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey have broken up, which is sad, but I'm glad to see she's getting out there again. I hear she's gone back to dating her father. Which I guess, you know, some people just belong together.

So I don't really like the term "alcoholic blackout." I prefer to look at it as a beautiful rainbow—with a total absence of color.

Have you ever kidnapped a bus full of day laborers and murdered the local city councilman and you've got like six federal agents on your tail but somehow you manage to make it past the security checkpoint at the airport and you're sitting comfortably in first class sipping your Courvoisier and Coke and no one recognizes you in the pageboy wig and glasses you stole off the dead clown you've checked in your luggage and that's when the in-flight safety video comes on and just as you're drifting off to sleep you hear, "American Airlines: Yeah. We know why you fly."

I'll just tell you this one last thing.

A couple nights ago, I was licking jelly off of Sarah Silverman's vagina...and I thought, 'Oh my God—I'm turning into Jimmy Kimmel.

And now, I'm off to New York.