My life really has become a sitcom.

When you're moving your whole world becomes boxes.

That's all you think about is boxes. Boxes, where are there boxes? You just wander down the street going in and out of stores. Are there boxes here? Have you seen any boxes? I mean it's all you think about.

You can't even talk to people because you can't concentrate. Shut up I'm looking for boxes.

Just after a while you become like really into it you can smell them. You walk into a store. There's boxes here. Don't tell me you don't have boxes. Dammit, I can SMELL them.

I'm like I'm obsessed. I love the smell of cardboard in the morning.

You could be at a funeral. Everyone's mourning crying around, and your looking at the casket. That's a nice box. Does anyone know where that guy got that box? When he's done with it do you think I could get that? It's got some nice handles on it.

And that's what death is really. It's the last big move of your life. The hearse is like the van. The pallbearers are your close friends - the only ones you could ask to help you with a big move like that. And the casket is that great perfect box you've been waiting for your whole life.

The only problem is, once you find it you're in it.

(Seinfeld, duh. I'm funny, but not THIS funny.)