I wrestle with my demons just like everybody else, addicted as I am to Mariel Hemingway movies and those little "fun-sized" Snickers bars, of which several trillion are floating around in these weeks after Halloween.
Airlift them to Cuba. Put them in warheads and fire them at Charlie Sheen's skull. Whatever it takes, because I am one fun-sized Snickers bar away from setting my garage afire just because.
See? Demons. Oh, I'm not done.
If I go to one more dinner party where someone raves about the mileage they're getting with their Prius or Leaf, my head might explode. Take me back to the days when dinner party chatter trended to red wine and smutty movies. And...