Another Dialogue:

Doug: All your dishes -- which you never used -- have chicken fat all over them.

Doug: And small encrusted spinach leaves which only reduce slightly in diameter no matter how furiously you scrub at them.

Mark: And stuff, you don't even know what it is, that you have to scrape off with a sturdy knife.

Mark: And broiler racks that have never been cleaned, ever.

Mark: That grease that becomes molecularly bonded with your skin.

Doug: Until you scream FUCK! FFUCK!!! FFFUUUCCCCKKKKK!!!! and slam a fying pan through your television screen.

Doug: And then your hair bursts into flames.

Mark: Dad has been gliding though the house recently, his feet a foot above the ground. Gerri too.

Mark: They pass each other in the hallway.

Mark: Dad in his bathrobe, Gerri in Flemish armour, circa 1385.

Doug: Is it a jousting contest?

Mark: Pikas scurrying up and down the outside of the house.

Doug: A mariachi band that keeps appearing at the bedroom door at 3:30 AM, playing La Cucaracha.

Mark: Their bed slams them into the wall every night at 4:12 AM.

Doug: Yes! Then Dad shoos the mariachis away, Gerri tries in vain to find them the next morning, and the next night, they are back.

Doug: And again with the bed.

Mark: OK here it is: it's August, it's 95 degrees, and it's pouring rain in their bedroom.

Mark: How much would you pay for footage??

Doug: Only if it were sudden and quite unexpected.

Doug: And arms were waved.

Mark: I want to see their bedroom sopping wet. Everything is absolutely soaked.

Mark: The cars won't start.

Mark: The power goes off.

Mark: There is a beeping sound.

Doug: Cue the German shepherds.

Doug: Bounding through the house, clawing the floors, barking.

Mark: I think we should fit some sort of spring-launching device under their bed.

Doug: Knocking knick knacks off shelves.

Doug: And that's when the dolls attack.

Doug: Victorian dolls versus German shepherds.

Mark: And smelly bums.

Doug: Gerri cannot break up the fight.

Mark: Dad and Gerri wake up with a foul homeless man in their bed.

Doug: Dad says, "Oh, Christ," and walks off the property in his bathrobe.

Mark: That's when the entire house disappears into a giant sinkhole.

Doug: I like it.

Mark: The only thing left is Dad, hair wisps at attention, bathrobe, FFFFFFFFUCK!!

Doug: "Son of a BITCH!"

Doug: ChrrrrrIST!!

Mark: He's not devastated, just really, really, really irritated.

Doug: That is how the journal gets started.

Mark: Vanilla enriched soymilk with Quik is pretty good.

Doug: And we didn't even talk about the wolverines Gerri encounters in the laundry room.

Doug: Quik?

Doug: Oh. My. God.

Doug: How about Strawberry Quik.

Mark: The Taste of Duluth.

Mark: Are you ever going to go back there?

Doug: Don't plan on it.