I am doing some really radical things to this new place of mine.

Okay, listen to this.

First, I'm going to move the lawnmower to the foot of the bed.

Then I'm going to put ceiling mirrors over the workbench to kind of open things up a little bit.

I'm transforming a stack of newspapers into kind of a nifty breakfast nook set off by either this flat wallpaper, take a look at that,

Or, now shoot me, but this is my first choice, this fun pink chiffon drapery.

Am I nuts?

Who cares?

What does it matter?

Well, jeez, Larry, you know, I know your life sucks, but do you have to drag the rest of us down into your own personal hell?

Larry, I don't hear the vacuum.

Oh, Chris, I thought I smelled something fat and flabby.

Chris was just telling me about the plans for his new apartment.

Oh, you must be so proud.

It's not every 30-year-old who has a garage to call his home.

Well, thank you very much, Sharon.

And may I remind you that the word garage is actually derived from the French.

It means place of the gods.

You still have a lot of work to do.

This is no time to be sitting around playing with a baboon.