“No, I didn’t bring Mike with me tonight. Yes, I know we’re tagged in a lot of pictures together, but it’s nothing serious.”


“He’s a fuck boy, Grandma.”


“I would rather pry that turkey leg from Uncle Dave’s greasy maw and use it to lobotomize myself than hear about your colonic frolic, Kathy.”


“Grandpa, if you have an inkling that your statement is rude and racist, your statement is rude and racist.”


“My Facebook news feed is comprised entirely of your food pictures and thinspirational quotes. I check my Facebook news feed every day. So, therefore, I’m aware of your paleo diet, Francine.”


“I don’t know, Uncle Dave, maybe I’ll get a ‘real job’ when you get that 300% return from those ‘investors’ in China.”


“On that note, would you say that you were more screwed by the Ponzi scheme or the nanny?”


“Well, I’m not going to bring up Francine’s wedding, when Kathy got drunk, puked, and made a vomit angel on the dance floor; nor will I mention Dave’s rampant infidelity. And I definitely don’t want to talk about the marital discord that plagues our family and has ransacked the scant stores of commonality between us, rendering gatherings like these uncomfortable, at best. But, no, I’m not interested in getting married.”


“Thanks for dinner, Grandma. This evening has left my reserves of joy as empty as Kathy’s intestinal tract.”