And my daughter's too smart. She gets it watching TV. She gets it. She's five. She gets it. I... I have a smart kid; I don't want a smart kid. I'm gonna start feedin' her lead paint chips just to bring her down.

The only way to tell my Dad something is to write it on a note, and tie it to a brick, and throw it through a window. Of course, now Dad's armed with a brick.

No problem is so big and difficult that it can't be blamed on somebody else.

Normal people, who grow up with compassion, never amount to anything. They're the ones who end up gluing those little dots on the highway. Or, putting glue on the dots for the guy who glues dots on the highway. Screwed up people, who weren't coddled or raised with compassion, we get stuff done. Sure, we feel a little alone and abandoned, but, we're... very... happy. Why can't you love me, daddy?

And my daughter's too smart. She gets it watching TV. She gets it. She's five. She gets it. I... I have a smart kid; I don't want a smart kid. I'm gonna start feedin' her lead paint chips just to bring her down.

Growing up, road trips with Dad were something I hated. Sitting still for hours, singing that stupid song, "100 bottles of beer on the wall. 100 bottles of beer..." Dad, you know, keeping up with the song.

Love. It's God's greatest gift. He fills our world with it and makes sure we grow up with caring, supportive parents. I'm just kidding. Pain is God's greatest gift. Pain is God's way of saying, "Hurts, don't it ? Wel, go ahead. Say, me dammit again."