You know, some people just don't get it. They think they need to smoke a little grass, maybe do a little blow, or ingest several grams of angel dust to lose their inhibitions. They think they can't cut loose without alcohol or ecstasy. But I'm here to tell you, you don't need drugs to get crazy and let it all hang out. I've been clean and sober my whole life, but I can still enjoy smashing through a plate-glass window and plummeting 15 stories into the pool of a luxury Vegas hotel as much as the next guy. And I do it without drugs.

The possibilities are endless when you live clean. You just need to have a little imagination, that's all.

See, I'm not one of these dirtbag wasteoids who thinks he needs the "high" of drugs to have fun. I may live the straight and narrow, but I've never let that stop me from, say, turning over a car and riddling it with bullet holes while screaming random obscenities at the top of my lungs to every passing motorist. Fun like that doesn't come in some pill. It comes from inside you.

I'm telling you, you'd be amazed at how much more enjoyable it is to leap off a burning bus onto the hood of a car behind it, smash through the window shield with a brick, and then dive off right before it careens into an oncoming truck when you're doing it with a clear head. Same goes for battling a pack of wild dogs in a back alley. And then passing out after the wild dog pack bites you so much that you pass out due to loss of blood but not before winning their respect by defeating their leader.

See what I mean? A world of adventure lies around every corner, guys. And trust me, you don't need a toke or a snort to get there.

Besides, how can anyone possibly enjoy all life has to offer when they're constantly blacking out and forgetting everything? Personally, I want to recall exactly which police car I illegally commandeered and drove into the Hudson River when I wake up, and remember full well what it felt like to kick the window out with my shackled feet so I could swim to the surface before it filled up with water and I drowned. Had I been pumped full of booze and drugs, I'd just be wondering how my clothes got soaking wet and covered in kerosene and why I was in a storeroom behind a riverfront Chinese restaurant with a broken lock on the back door, desperate to find a hacksaw to free my legs. Instead, I have a crystal-clear memory of every special moment that happened that night. It's all right there in my head.

It's annoying to me that stuff like cutting down a No Parking sign with a blowtorch and then using it to smash every window display on a block are considered a "drug thing." You can keep throwing a party every night if you want to, without the disadvantage of mind-altering substances affecting your judgment as you swing wildly from a clothesline before it snaps and you plummet to the ground and cave in the tin roof of your neighbor's tool shed as it breaks your fall.

So go ahead and swing that ax handle, break every object in the room, engage in unprotected sex with hundreds of filthy strangers. Go ahead and leap onto a passing fire truck, grab the driver and throw him out, and then crank the siren and extend the ladder while speeding down the street at 80 miles an hour, taking out as many telephone poles as you can. Look at me: I'm the living proof it can work. Live the good life—but live it sober. I know I have, and I can't tell you how much pain I'm in right now.