“Justy, I know you’re my son, but–”

“We’re not doing foot stuff, Pop.”

“–let’s do foot stuff. Why not?”

“It’s wrong.”

“Naaaaah. You ever hear about Abraham and Isaac from the Hotel Book?”

“The Bible. That book is called the Bible.”

“They did tons of toe-play. Nobody thought less of them.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve stayed in a lot of hotels, Justy.”

“I’m here to talk about drums, Pop.”

“Shit, you wanna talk drums, you should call up your Uncle Mickey. He won’t shut the fuck up about ’em. I keep telling him to get a hobby, but he just pretends his hearing aids aren’t working. Deaf as a coffee table that had the mumps as a kid.”

“I already talked to Uncle Mickey.”

“He tell you about the time he fucked half the UCLA ladies’ volleyball team? He had to climb most of those chicks.”

“Pop.”

“Eventually, he got tired and just started rubbing against their knees.”

“Pop.”

“Benjy, you went bald quick.”

“Not Benjy, Pop.”

“Am I getting paid for this?”