"I believe that there are things which humanity will never fully understand, for in the understanding of them, we will no longer be "human." One of these things is the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser. I don't know how it works, and I don't want to know. It's a big universe and even with our limited understanding of it, it's pretty clear that the universe is in no way equipped to keep up with the bureaucracy of its particles and/or strings. There are things lurking in the dark, unwatched, unguarded recesses of reality. Things as beyond you or I as we are beyond an amoeba. It is quite obvious that Mr. Clean Magic Erasers draw their power from these unknowable horrors. They probably found it in the core of a meteor still half buried in the Earth, hideously pulsing with a light not unlike the color of blood and hate. So use your Magic Erasers while you still can, before they run out of meteor or they discover it causes cervical cancer or testicular cancer in men and women respectively."

“Typing up a detailed news post at this moment would not further the goals of my great society. Stay tuned for ideological update.”

“I suppose their thinking is that since ideas can be dangerous, there should be limits on which ideas are expressed. Which is only the foundation of fascism. Thanks, government!”

“I thought it's only been three days. Hard to tell without sunlight.”

“Today is the day that we, as Americans, celebrate our Independence Day from the aliens who invaded our world, presumably for conquest of some kind. Or that's my understanding at least, as I cannot read.”

“LA is a hole where everything good goes to die. Every year I come here, it's like a contest to see how short I can cut the trip for the next year. Eventually I'm just going to run inside, take a picture, and fly home. The next year I'll just rent some time on a satellite and get pics from orbit. But everything is shiny.”

“I ate soup from a bowl made of bread. This is the kind of heady decadance that will be detailed in the webcomic history books. My decline into soupy madness will be but a footnote of the 8BT story, itself a footnote. But the bread, man. You can eat your soup, and then eat the bowl. There's no turning back now. A decent life in the light of, uh, decency is behind me. Now it's wall-to-wall bread bowls and hookers.”