The author can check out anytime he wants, but he can never leave.

The author took the Turing Test under artificial circumstances.

The author self-censors, self-abuses, self-entertains and self-selects, yet still seeks the approval of his scant readership to prove to himself that he exists.

The author no longer has to stoop to conquer since he bought himself this ergonomic siege weapon.

The author took a left at Metaphor and Vine.

The author is mostly water.

The author took a break from writing to write his latest book.

The author sometimes feels bored with having to spend everyday driving from Zelda to Anzibar and back again.

The author slept on his manuscript wrong.

The author climbs into the mouths of more successful writers and delicately picks the shredded bits of metaphor from between their teeth.

The author weighs in at an impressive 188 pages, dripping wet, double-spaced.

The author no longer channels Crapp-Ra, that lying spirit guide who made him say all those racist and homophobic things back in the nineties.

The author studied under there.

(Ha! Did the author just make you say underwear? The author loves that gag.)

The author wants to hear more about your background in the publishing industry. Really...your uncle, you say?

The author discovered his real purpose years ago. Now he just pretends that he's misplaced it so he gets to discover it all over again.

The author burps up sentences that taste vaguely of Hemingway and beer.

The author always puts the seat down when he writes.

The author takes long walks around short subjects.

The author takes the long view on his undershorts.

The author isn't sure it's any of your goddam business.

The author was a finalist for the prestigious "Who Dealt It?" Award.

The author sometimes wishes he were a fireman, or an astronaut, or the guy who tests new cheeto flavors.

The author never remembers to check for spelling errors on his threatening notes to his publisher.

The author still has shredded metaphor stuck between his imaginary teeth.

The author prefers the round food.

The author chews the ice in his drink, not the other way around.

The author will take his eggs over medium, thank you.

The author is looking in the last place that he left it.

The author wonders whether anybody else feels this way.

The author is a sucker for tootsie pops.

The author still cries during the tense moments of "Apollo 13."

The author has reservations for the Hesitater's Convention.

The author sleeps naked in a crate full of gummi bears (which are changed weekly).

The author doesn't remember ordering this soup.

The author will be sure to let everyone know when he is finished letting everyone know when.

The author ate lunch less than an hour before swimming.

The author picked up a slight cold in South Carolina.

The author is currently in Los Angeles, researching a book about In-and-Out Burger.

The author picked up a naked monkey in New Mexico.

The author picked up a social disease in South Dakota.

The author doesn't want to get into it right now. Suffice it to say that he is not quite finished...

The author is just writing these books to get attention. Just ignore him.

The author does not understand these new-fangled fangling machines.

The author never liked the shape of his toes. This informs much of his work.

The author has been reading alot about this whole "internet" thing recently.

The author takes time out of his busy schedule every week to donate fertilizer to his neighbor's flower garden. (Actually, the author's neighbor doesn't need to know about this...)

The author was there when it all went down, man.

The author used to write haikus like most men drink beer--six at a time. Now he just drinks the beer and shouts at passing Japanese motorists.

The author was conceived in one state and delivered in another.