Fletcher: OH NO! I CAN ONLY TELL THE TRUTH!

Max: Wow! So…is Santa real?

Fletcher: No, absolutely not.

Max: Oh Jesus.

Fletcher: He's not real either! Neither is God.

Max: So…what happens when you die?

Fletcher: You just rot in the ground. There is no such thing as a soul.

Max: Is it my fault you and mommy divorced?

Fletcher: Yes. You ruined our marriage.

Max: Do you love me?

Fletcher: Only on weekends.

 

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Carl: I was raped last night.

Peter: Oh my god, Carl. I'm so sorry.

Carl: It's okay. I just don't –

Peter: Um, one question…did you say "yes?"

Carl: …yes. I had to though. Remember how I now say "yes" to everything?

Peter: It's just…technically then, it wasn't rape.

Carl: Goddammit.

Peter: …can I have sex with you?

Carl: We both know how this is going to end.


 
 

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Network Executive: We have a problem, Christof.

Christof: What's going on?

Network Executive: Well, Truman's 4 years old now. It turns out the audience is comprised almost entirely of pedophiles.

Christof: I guess…that makes a lot of sense. He doesn't really do anything except play with blocks. Who else would watch that?

Network Executive: Building this island-sized set and hiring hundreds of actors so people could watch a live webcam about a baby may have been a bad investment.

Christof: So what do you want me to do?

Network Executive: I'm canceling the show.

Christof: What happens to 4 year-old Truman?

Network Executive: He's on his own now.

 
 

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God: Now you have God-powers.

Bruce: B-E-A-utiful. First thing to do is impregnate a 13 year old girl with my son.

God: Uh…

Bruce: Maybe I should send a bunch of plagues to Egypt first. Ya know, just indiscriminately kill all first-born males.

God: Okay, you can stop. I get it.

Bruce: Really all I care about is making sure gay dudes can't get married. That would offend me.

God: That's it, you're done.

Bruce: I've already started the Rapture, man.

God: Well. This did not go as expected.