I am not a federal employee. I am a constitutional officer. My job is the Constitution of the United States, I am not a government employee. I am in the Constitution.

When people asked me in a RV park, "What do you do?" I just said, "I'm a retired state employee from Maine."

John: We're all like zombies. The spirits inside our souls are dead, thanks to Adam.

What’s with the zombie craze? Zombies are half alive, half dead, right? Sounds like my wife in bed.

Fela likens the Nigerian military to mindless zombies following idiotic orders. It was relevant then. It is relevant today. And it most likely will be relevant tomorrow in the future.

When my son was a day old, that’s when it hit me that I no longer had a say—it would always be about him. He now fully depends on me. In the beginning, I was a walking zombie because I wasn’t getting enough sleep. Even now, I survive on very little sleep as I also have to chase my dreams.

Nowadays, everyone seems to be emotionally dead, like zombies in pinstripe suits. Trudging to work each day to make a living, queueing up at McDonalds for their daily fuel intake, coming home to vegetate in front of the TV for hours on end. (22 October 2004)

You are dead- what am I speaking to?

Zombies are soulless creatures, and being soulless has been empirically proven to result in an unpleasant disposition.

I glanced at the ring on my finger. The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail, Forever and Ever … I know where I came from — but where did all you zombies come from?

Here, I'll practice on you. Mom. I have something to tell you. I'm undead. Now, I know you may have some preconceived notions about the undead. I know you may not be comfortable with the idea of me being undead. But I'm here to tell you that the undead are just like you and me. Well, okay. Possibly more like me than you.

I've been a freelancer since 1979. There’s something good about it, because I can pick what I want to do, within limits, assuming I can turn in enough good stories and my ideas are good enough. I’m not at the mercy of an editor. When I did it, you could do long-form reporting as a freelancer. Once I began to get connected with The New Yorker, everybody assumed I was working for it, but I was always on contract. I wanted to be. I could have changed it, but then I would have had the editors have control over me, so I didn’t want that. On the other hand, they still had control over me, because I would do an assignment. They were the editor and they paid the bills. I don’t know if I was being silly or not, but whatever happened, it turned out that it was all fine. Serendipity, I guess.

Translation: I'm a living corpse, untombed, undraped,
Unwelcome in the alien land, exiled from home and hearth.

Is that about farting zombies?