Yeah. See, I love Mia, and I want her to be happy. And I happen to know she's not happy when I smoke cigars and drink and gamble and stay out all night and... eat meat and sugar and grease and fat and... nap and swear and wear shorts and bowling shirts...
Um, hang on, let's see if I got anything in here that might mask that stench. Oven cleaner? No. Ty-D-Bol? No. How do you feel about taking a whore's bath with a hunk of blue cheese?
And did she [Evelyn] or did she not say that I'm a lazy-ass schlock jingle writer who wasted thirteen years of piano lessons that she paid for by marrying a series of men with large wallets and small penises?
Yes, that was mentioned. But it's only natural for someone who loves you to want to see you live up to your potential. I mean, do you really want to be known as the guy who writes songs about adult diapers?
Well, good! Maybe now you know how I feel, sitting in a restaurant eating medallions of bean curd with lawnmower sauce! Am I right? No man should have to eat anything with the word "curd" in it!
Well, then, I'm finally living up to my potential. [Mia leaves] I'm a big ol' bourbon-soaked, cigar-humping ass, as God in His infinite wisdom meant me to be. As He meant all men to be! [one person claps but everyone else is silent] You guys are disappointing God.
