"Good evening, my name is Bill Hicks. I've been on the road now doing comedy 12 years, so, uh, bear with me while I plaster on a fake smile and plow through this *asterisk* one more time. … I'm kinda tired of traveling, kinda tired of doing comedy, kinda tired of staring out at your blank faces looking back at me, wanting me to fill your empty lives with humor you couldn't possibly think of yourselves."

It's sad, but when they hear about the low mating rates a lot of pandas end up turning to the bottle.

Is there an alarm that goes off in Lala Land when I make a Bill Hicks reference?

yes, actually.

They were driving through Homestead now. Paul suddenly snapped his fingers in recollection and turned down a side street. "I've got to stop by police headquarters for a minute. Mind waiting?"
"What's the trouble?"
"Almost slipped my mind. Somebody swiped the gun from the glove compartment, or it fell out, or something.”
“Keep driving.”
“It’ll just take a minute, I hope.”
“I took it.”
“You? Why?”
“Had an idea I might want to shoot myself.” He said it matter-of-factly. “Even had the barrel in my mouth for a while, and the hammer back – for maybe ten minutes.”
“Where is it now?”
“Bottom of the Iroquois somewhere.” He licked his lips. “Tasted oil and metal all through dinner. Turn left.”

Paul had learned to listen with outward calm when Finnerty spoke of his morbid moments. When he was with Finnerty he liked to pretend that he shared the man’s fantastic and alternately brilliant or black inner thoughts – almost as though he were discontent with his own relative tranquility. Finnerty had spoke dispassionately of suicide often; but, seemingly, he did it because he got pleasure from savoring the idea. If he’d felt driven to kill himself, he would have been dead long ago.

“You think I’m insane?” said Finnerty. Apparently he wanted more of a reaction than Paul had given him.
“You’re still in touch. I guess that’s the test.”
“Barely – barely.”

“A psychiatrist could help. There’s a good man in Albany.”
Finnerty shook his head. “He’d pull me back into the center, and I want to stay as close to the edge as I can without going over. Out on the edge you see all kinds of things you can’t see form the center.” He nodded, “Big, undreamed-of things – the people on the edge see them first.” He laid his hand on Paul’s shoulder, and Paul fought a reflex that suddenly made him want to get as far away as possible. “Here’s the place we want,” said Finnerty. “Park here.”

- Vonnegut

Now I want to read more Vonnegut.