Though my skull is the size of a soup bowl, everything in the universe—and more—can fit inside my imagination. And guess what? My imagination tastes like chicken noodle soup.

“I want to move to a ghost town and try to sell the population bodies to dwell i…”

“A blanket and a brick could be put in a ring and paid to fight. Compared to MMA…”

“I want to do something for a living that when it comes time to retire and I can…”

“I want a trophy that has atrophy—where the maquette on top isn’t sculpted metal…”