“I think we’ve missed a trick there. We could develop wheat with the properties of Velcro… to catch whatever it is that’s forming those crop circles! But then the spaceship would have to have the corresponding Velcro, so it’s a bit of a long shot.”

I know that to be a true fact because I read it in Heat magazine

Phil Robertson and his family are great citizens of the State of Louisiana. The politically correct crowd is tolerant of all viewpoints, except those they disagree with.

You remind me of the Siberian hunting spider, which adopts a highly convincing limp in three of its eight legs in order to attract its main prey.

How many amoebas does it take to screw in a light bulb? One, no two! No four! …no eight!

Problems often look overwhelming at first. The secret is to break problems into small, manageable chunks. If you deal with those, you’re done before you know it.

I always thought it would be really cool to be playing the drums in the show and then have your astral body or whatever travel all through the audience and dig whatever it’s like out there.

You can’t change people, but most importantly, unless you’re their momma, you don’t even know what’s best for them.

I’m a vegetarian, I’m not strict. I eat fish. And duck, but they’re nearly fish aren’t they.

I tried to like it. For me, it was like being smacked around the head by a piece of IKEA furniture: it hurts, but you’ve got to admire the workmanship.

Presence always wins out over principles.

Three women walk into a pub and say, ‘Hooray, we’ve colonised a male-dominated joke format’

Well, I happen to have a love of vocal reproduction devices.

Television is where you earn regular money so you can plan a little bit but even then only when you have a regular gig. If you’re just doing the odd appearance, you don’t know if it will carry on.

Three blokes go into a pub. One of them is a little bit stupid, and the whole scene unfolds with a tedious inevitability.

I would never condone the burning of a Dan Brown novel, much though I loathe and detest his work. Well, I say work, you know, words, randomly arranged to form millions of dollars… I’m not bitter at all.

Add a drop of lavender to milk, leave town with an orange, and pretend you’re laughing at it.