(Enter stage left. Wave to those gathered. Stand on podium, or maybe just in front of the coffee table.)
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, Mom and Dad, for coming to your living room. I know that you, Dad, could have chosen to stay upstairs in your office. And you, Mom, might have had other obligations with whatever it is that you do. So, thank you both for coming here today.
As you know, we have reached a crucial moment in our—and by “our” I mean "my"—existence. My 40th birthday is coming up. It’s this November, Dad; Mom will fill you in. And it’s time that we take a look at where we—I—stand. In fact, Dad, you have said to me, “Son, take a look at where you stand. And seek psychological help.”
And from those words, I have sensed what you might be thinking: Should we keep this person as our son … or should we legally disown him?
I want you to know, Mom and Dad: I … Hear … You.
For that reason, I believe it’s time we talked about change. This campaign is all about change. We all want change for the better. We all want me to change into an independent, responsible adult who lives outside this house. You want it, Dad. You want it, Mom. And I am here to tell you that I want change, too.
And though change doesn’t happen overnight, I am happy to say that change is already in the works.
(Start letting your voice get into it here.)
My parents, when my laptop stopped working a couple of months ago, I didn’t take the easy way out, which would have been to ask you for a new laptop, since my credit is so screwed and I have virtually no money.
Instead, I called my laptop’s tech support, and I spent nearly an hour—an hour!—on the phone with some guy in India. Outsourcing is threatening our great country! And the laptop still wasn’t fixed!
But … I … Tried.
And only after the laptop wasn’t fixed did I ask for money to buy a new laptop. It was your generous American spirit that helped me to overcome outsourcing to foreign countries, and allowed me to continue to hang out in wireless cafés every great American day.
When I lost my cell phone for the seventh time in six months, and this time I had a legitimate excuse for losing it, because it really might have been stolen from my pocket at that bar, I didn’t come to you and say, “Hey, give me a new cell phone, because you’re the ones who are still paying for my plan.”
Instead, I drove myself all the way to the cell-phone place and asked them what they had in stock, and when I found out that I could not get even the smallest rebate on a phone, simply because I have lost my phone so many times—corporate greed is threatening our great country!—only then did I come to you and say, “Hey, give me a new cell phone.” Actually, what happened was, I just bought a new cell phone on the credit card you gave me a while back, Ma. And then I told you about it. Just now.
The point is, there are countless moments such as these that illustrate that change is in the works, and that I am, and always have been, the best candidate to be your son.
(Concentrate on rhythm here!)
Yes, I have paralyzing debt, which you’ll have to pay off one day, or else I’ll just declare bankruptcy. In fact, I could have declared bankruptcy already!
But. I. Didn’t!
And I’ve still got my car! The car you gave me! The car I could have lost a long time ago, or sold when I was in that gambling league!
But. I. Didn’t!
I could have kept demanding Christmas presents!
But I didn’t!
I could have thrown a temper tantrum when you removed me from your meal plan at the club!
But I didn’t!
I could have demanded you let me go to Bonnaroo when the White Stripes were playing!
But I didn’t! Actually, I did demand that. But you didn’t let me. And I accepted that after nothing more than a two-day temper tantrum in my room.
The point is that, through all of this, through the change that you see is clearly sweeping through this household, you were there.
Say it with me, Ma: You. Were. There.
Come on, Dad: You! Were! There!
You were there when I was born! You were there when I had to get bailed out for the DUI! You were there when that skank of a girlfriend dumped me and I cried like a baby for days! You were there when the IRS said they were going to audit me and they said it looked really, really bad!
Actually, I meant to tell you about that. The audit is this coming Tuesday.
And Mom and Dad: You! Will! Be! There! … With! A! Checkbook!
(Bring it down a notch.)
So, in summary, I just want to say thank you. It’s genuine gratitude that echoes across our green lawn, which I will one day mow, and up to the attic space, where I am creating a new room for my band … Genuine gratitude that comes from the bottom of the deepest lake I somehow have not yet been found in … And genuine gratitude that comes straight from my drug dealer, too …
(Wrap it up poignantly.)
I know, come this November, when you take time to consider whether or not to give up on me, whether or not to let your only son finally walk the lonesome road of adulthood, far from the cushion of your warm financial bosom, you will realize that you were there … you are there … and you will be there forevermore.
Thank you. God bless.
(Applause. Wave—cue falling balloons—exit to bedroom.)