Happiness is a choice. Like stealing. Almost as satisfying, too.

I am the rock. I shall not falter. I shall not tolerate jabronis.

I do not have the ability to change the actions of others, in the same way that jet fuel does not have the ability to melt steel beams.

My failure does not block me. My failure is not like an opposing basketball player standing in my way of the basket. But if it were, I’d be dunking over said player totally shattering his self-esteem and working the entire stadium into an erotic frenzy.

I deserve success; I deserve to be surrounded by gilded trinkets like some excellent pharaoh.

My marriage is becoming stronger each day, its beastly back rippling with new muscles, angry muscles, muscles with an agenda all their own.

I am horny as hell and I’m not gonna take it anymore.

Business is the child’s sport of t-ball and I am a grown man completely owning everyone else, beer in hand, my son embarrassed.

I forgive those who have harmed me in my past and wish them luck boning 2s for the rest of their lives.

I am not sadder than a magician.

Peace and serenity surround me and I don’t think it’s paranoid to assume they are scheming.

Tomorrow is a new day — it has yet to exist. LOL, that’s pretty wild to think about.

I am powerful and large. I am huge. I am, just, so fucking huge.

Friends and family cherish me, they create a sturdy web of reinforcement, and trap the invading insects.

I am in my sexual prime and everyone can tell. It frightens them.

The world is my canvas; I decide which flavor of Mad Dog 20/20 to painfully regurgitate upon its landscape.

I could make up a better Scientology than that.

There is at least one person on this earth whom I can convince that I am legitimately a wizard.

I am my own master, I am in a dominant/submissive relationship with my destiny.