“Weir, lemme lend you my comb.”
“I’m fine. Free and shaggy.”
“You look like a hobo. Not even a high-status hobo. You look like the hobo the other hobos goof on.”
“Really, I’m good.”
“Grahame, fetch Daddy’s hair implements.”
“Jeez, Dad, I’m talking to–”
“50 grand to get you into college and you’re in a jam band. I’m sick.”
“Dad, stop saying that.”
“I might go to jail, Grahame. Mommy and Daddy might go to jail because we had to bribe people to get you into San Mateo Junior College.”
“That’s not true, Pop. Uncle Bobby, he’s telling stories again.”
“GET DADDY’S COMBS, BOY!”
…
“Kids, huh?”
“Oh, yeah. Is yours on Instagram?”
“All he does all day.”
“Uh-huh. Does your kid get as many unsolicited dick pics as mine does?”
“Our children have different kinds of Instagram pictures, Weir.”
“Sure, sure. Hey, Phil?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you that puffy or is it just your coat?”
“Just my coat.”
“Okay.”
jesus bobby, how’d your hair get all Schwuffy in the back like that?
One of your best. Really laughed out loud. 😀