Why the hell do we need to come here all the time? It's not like Grandma even knows who we are anymore. Why don't we just lie to her, tell her that we came last week? We can always put the phone on the table while she cries for 20 minutes about how lonely she is.

No Grandma, it's not cold in here, it's August. You're probably just dying inside.

No Grandpa, I don't want to hear the story about how you had to wear cardboard in your shoes to cover the holes in them during the Great Depression. Frankly any story about the Great Depression is well…depressing. I look at what you have become and get a good idea about how shitty your life has been.

Mom, why do you feed me this bullshit about how bad drugs are and how I shouldn't do them when Grandma and Grandpa are so spaced on their "medicine" that Grandpa just pissed himself and Grandma is eating a potholder?

Dad, why did you always tell me how important it is to always tell the truth, when Grandma is 81 and still has red hair, and Grandpa obviously pretended to be gay to avoid WW2? What you mean he wasn't pretending anything? Why does he dress that way then.

And my personal favorite

I know why you're so tired Grandpa. I believe that God judges us for everything we do in life too, and if I was you I would be so scared of the fire in hell that I wouldn't be able to sleep very well either. Oh well, at least I'm a good person, Good Night!


20:1 says I am not going to be in will. I'd take that bet, cash.