Tough Shit: Life Advice from a Fat, Lazy Slob Who Did Good

Remember: It costs nothing to encourage an artist, and the potential benefits are staggering. A pat on the back to an artist now could one day result in your favorite film, or the cartoon you love to get stoned watching, or the song that saves your life. Discourage an artist, you get absolutely nothing in return, ever.

In the face of such hopelessness as our eventual, unavoidable death, there is little sense in not at least trying to accomplish all of your wildest dreams in life.

If you're alive, kick into drive. Chase whimsies. See if you can turn dreams into a way to make a living, if not an entire way of life.

Only someone who doesn’t understand art tells an artist their art somehow failed. How the fuck can art fail? Art can’t be graded, because it’s going to mean something different to everyone. You can’t apply a mathematical absolute to art because there is no one formula for self-expression.

There's a trick to being whatever you want to be in life. It starts with the simple belief that you are what or who you say you are.

As human beings we govern our actions with our deepest fears. But if you name that shit, you claim that shit: let enough people into your closet and you'll find there's no more room for skeletons. Leave yourself nowhere to hide and you can live your life unguarded.

GOD DOESN’T HATE FAGS OR ANYBODY ELSE FOR THAT MATTER. GOD SAVES! THEN, GOD PASSES IT TO GRETZKY - WHO ROOFS THAT SHIT, TOP-SHELF! THEN GOD AND GRETZKY HIGH FIVE & BELLY-BUMP, CELEBRATING THEIR HOCKEY PROWESS. AND NEVER ONCE DO THEY GIVE A SHIT IF ANYBODY’S GAY OR NOT.

We can’t all be Superman, but we sure as shit can train hard, and with loads of practice, we can be Batman. And who the fuck doesn’t wanna be Batman? Batman has an impeccable moral compass, he’s clever and mysterious, and when fucktards get sassy, he punches them in the face.

Batman has an impeccable moral compass, he’s clever and mysterious, and when fucktards get sassy, he punches them in the face.

People always ask me if I hate the nuns. Do I make my movies extra dirty to piss them off? I always say no, that's not the point. To a Catholic, a movie is only dirty if it makes you want to have sex more. If it makes you feel sick, disgusted, ashamed of your own body, then it's not a dirty movie at all. It's a Catholic movie. And I make very Catholic movies.

Life is also, as George Carlin taught us, a zero-sum game. We all lose in the end. We all die screaming. If that’s the case, we might as well make for ourselves a paradise in this world. Make yourself happy and comfortable as often as you can, because sooner or later, the infinite hands you a bill for all these goods and services. What

My American Dream has always been simple, and it’s one I encourage you to adopt as your own: Figure out what you love to do, then figure out how to get paid to do it.

I don't have to write to South West buddy. In an hour South West gonna come looking for me!

Like its author, this book is dedicated to Jen Schwalbach - the gorgeous mother of my child, the seductive temptress who keeps me faithful, and the friend I've always had the most fun with. My best friend, even. Also quite like the author, this book is additionally dedicated to Jen Schwalbach asshole. Everything above also applies here, obviously, except the "mother of my child" part: referencing my kid and my wife's brown eye in the same sentiment might come off as crude or something. (And I have a heart: Please don't go telling my kid you read in her old man's book that she's some kinda Butt-Baby. She's gonna have a hard enough time being Silent Bob's daughter - the daughter of the "Too Fat to Fly" guy. Also: Pleas don't tell my daughter I dedicated tge vook to her mother's sphincter. That'd be weird)

Even if we never talk again after tonight, please know that I’m forever changed because of who you are, and what you’ve meant to me.

You give of yourself so that someone else can achieve their goal.

Most people hate their jobs, true, but my old man despised his in an Ahab-and-Moby (or Eminem-and-Moby) kinda way. He never said, “Go into the entertainment biz, son”—he was just a living example of why it was worth taking a shot going after the stuff of dreams rather than simply getting a job. I saw how much my dad hated working and realized he was right: Working blows. If you hate what you do, it’ll always be work.

... -because that's when I realized that this life is a rigged game that you cannot win. Even good men die screaming.

It's funny the things that go through your mind when you're getting the shit kicked out of you. As Bruce Willis' fist came crashing into my face, I thought about that old Shakespeare quote Father Bernard used to throw around back at Holy Name. Something about you only play with a lion when he's a frisky young cub, not when he's an old one, dying. Bruce knew when he agreed to work with me that his career was just about over. He was a lion, once, but now he was just an old one, dying. And I was the only guy around to blame. And man did his fist make that point. Repeatedly.

Why do my movies make people feel so dead inside?