"No one ever wrote this sentence before: 'On the feast of St. Stephen, I was driving my hearse to the wholesale liverwurst outlet when, suddenly, a hermaphrodite in a piano truck backed out of a crackhouse driveway and, as my shoes caught fire, I pirouetted across Boris Karloff Blvd., slapping the truck driver six times in the loins with a Chattanooga road map, even though he was humming The Pussycat Song.' " - George Carlin