Jon Dawson: Diddy recording holiday album in jail

“At some point, I figured people would wake up and stop buying my terrible, terrible music, and I was just preparing for that day.”

Jon Dawson: A dream wedding for just pennies

If my pending patent for no-stick lip balm comes through, I may have enough dough to spring for a few pizzas.

“I’m tired of my friends ending up in the emergency room with their lips stapled together.”

One second everybody in the band was asleep in their bunks, the next they were shoulder-rolling down Vernon Avenue.

“That’s something I can’t talk about,” he said, a phrase that unsurprisingly would come up many times during our conversation.

“By midnight she’ll be crawling around the lobby looking for enough change to get a cab back to her room at the YMCA.”

Every 30 seconds some cement-headed waste of space yelled out as if they were playing bingo at a Metallica concert.

Some people believe potted meat should be classified as a schedule IV controlled substance.

The humidity was so high I saw two fire hydrants fighting over a dog.

“All of a sudden I noticed that the yips and barks had grown disturbingly faint.”