I mean, if you don’t get it right the first three times, who am I to suggest you give up? Meryl, Meredith, whatever your name is, I’m happy to have you as my most recent stepmom.
I’m glad you like the oak tree, dad. I like to think that some day, long after you’re dead of course, I’ll bring my kids–maybe even my grandkids–to see it.
Just so we’re all on the same page, does my dad’s chronic exercising reek of desperation? Or is that just the smell of sweat-soaked Lycra and Icy Hot?
If I’d ever been shown what love is, dad, I’m pretty sure I’d love you.
Again, that tree will only be reaching the cusp of a long and fruitful maturity when you’re moldering in the ground, dad.
How many step-siblings do I have, anyway?
I’ve been wanting to tell you this for some time, dad. I lost my virginity in the back seat of your Mercedes. Thank god for leather seats, right?
We’re too much alike dad. I think that’s the problem. We both like liquor, fast cars, and young women. Oh, shit. I should’ve maybe told you before now. I’m a lesbian.
Who wants shots? The old fart’s buying!
