Research, Research, Research. It Means Everything.

It's Depressing When You're Still Around And Your Albums Are Out Of Print.

I've Made Love To My Mother, Killed My Father, And My Brother. What Am I To Do?

Honey, I'm A Cocksucker, What Are You?

The Baby Sits In Front Of Mtv Watching Violent Fantasies, While Dad Guzzles Beer With His Favorite Sport Only To Find His Heroes All Coked Up.

I Can Concentrate On My Art.