Step up or step aside.

By the way, six A.M.? Not a real great time for me; you know, I'm a comic. I get off work at two. Six A.M., I'm a little grumpy. Six A.M., I'm a little P.O.ed. Six A.M., I'm like a vampire with a paper route.

I say we spend some money, clean up some junkies and make them all go work for the Red Cross. You ever give blood to the Red Cross? Little paper hatted trainee kid, just sticking you full of holes. Golly, jeez, this is way harder than the deep fryer, how does this work? You get an ex-junkie in there, bap-bap, he's gonna find a vein. You're in, you're out, you got sugar cookie and you're happy!

Being a parent is a life sentence. You see, that's why normal people should not have children because if you raise a kid with only love and support, I guarantee that kid will be in rehab by the time he is 16. Why? Because you never introduced him to Mr. Back-of-Your-Hand. You know why I only broke into a liquor store once? 'Cause my father introduced me to Mr. Back-of-His-Hand and its wiley sidekick, Mr. Foot-in-My-Ass.

I have pictures of my daughter, in the hospital, at three seconds, six seconds, nine seconds, and then fifteen seconds, 'cause dumbass couldn't get the camera ready fast enough. Yeah, ha ha ha. She wrote that in the photo album.

All of Dad's relationships ended exactly the same: subpoena, beep of a moving van backing up the driveway, pile of his clothes burning on the front lawn.

We kinda hated sitcoms when we sat down and talked about this. We wanted to do something that was in the sitcom vain but totally different.