— Alan, you've been making the same mistake your whole life. Being the good boy, fixing everything so everybody would love you. It didn't work with Mom. It didn't work with either of the women you went out with. And it's not gonna work with your wife.
— Charlie, you know nothing about commitment and responsibility to a relationship.
— Granted. But I do know when a woman's using me. And by that I mean not in a fun way.
— But what about like creativity? See, I write music for a living. Will I still be able to do that?
— Do you write with your testicles?
— Why are they fighting?
— They're not fighting. They're discussing.
— I'm a child of divorce, Dad. I know the difference.
— You know what, it doesn't matter if I look cool, we judge a person by what's inside them, not by what they wear.
— Lucky for you.
— Charlie!
— What?
— You kicked me in your sleep.
— Who said I was asleep?
— I tried with that kid, Alan. He says one thing, and then he goes and does another.
— He's 10. He's got the attention span of a hummingbird.
— What am I supposed to do when he ignores me?
— You punish him. You take away his computer, his TV, his toys.
— You already took away all the good stuff. What am I supposed to take away? His bronchial inhaler?
— I have to bring the garbage cans back in.
— Today wasn't garbage day.
— No, not here. At Judith's.
— At Judith's? Alan, your wife throw you out.
— Yeah, that doesn't mean she doesn't need me.
— Yeah, it kind of does.
— Look, we're still married, it's still my house, and she still counts on me to do a few chores. It's good. It leaves the door open for, you know, reconciliation.
— I see. So, how do you lift those garbage cans without a spine?
Look at you. All grown up and back living with Mom. How good do you feel about yourself right now? On a scale of one to two.
— If you've got someone to clean your house and do your shopping and you're getting action on a regular basis, the only reason you need a wife is if you have some sick compulsion to give away half your stuff.
— These clothes look stupid.
— You're 10. No one cares.
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