I&#39;m not squeamish at all. As a child I dragged a dead squirrel home on my skateboard and cut it open and tried to look at its brain.

I play in a band, I write songs, I sing, you know, perform on stage.

You know, I’ve never understood it. They make a deal with the devil herself and then expect me to bail them out of every minor scrape. Then when I show up to help them, they cop an attitude and tell me to blow. So if I’m selfish for wanting four days a year to be left alone, then I’m just a selfish bastard. Sue me. (Acheron)

Written By Diana Gabaldon

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