“Tell me about this drum, Uncle Mickey.”

“It could be a coffee table.”

“But it’s not.”

“No. It’s a drum. Everything in here is a drum, Justy.”

“Justin.”

“Now, just help me with this one last time–”

“I’m Billy’s son.”

“–who exactly are…ahhhh. Okay. That would explain why you look nothing like Phil.”

“Sure. Back to the drum, Uncle Mick.”

“I never have to get back to drums. Because I never leave them. Would you like to see my pocket bongos?”

“It depends.”

“They’re my balls.”

“Then, no, I do not want to see them.”