I live in Los Angeles. It’s a very liberal city, but it’s so hypocritical in what it’s liberal about. You can be driving down Hollywood Boulevard, see a guy in lipstick and high heels wearing a fur coat masturbating into a mailbox. People giving him a hard time as they drive by: “Hey, is that real fur?”
“Of course not! That’s sick!”
Why did I adopt kids? I dunno. Let me look at my family: religious weirdo, gun nut, biker, boozer, dead tooth, too many cats, the guy who talks to his truck. Hmmm. Maybe I adopted because genetically my balls are full of poison.
I’ve never made the connection between physical pain and sexual arousal, because when we were kids my dad used to kick the shit out of us and if he saw you getting a boner—game over.
To me 30 isn’t old. But it’s definitely the beginning of no longer young. Because you notice little subtle things happen to you. You’ll be in your car driving around listening to the radio and hear stuff like, “That’s was an oldie from The Clash.”