Ray: I'm having lunch at the paper with the guys, and he just shows up. He starts telling us about writing. Telling us! When I left, he was teaching us about alliteration. So, fearing my father the freak I fled before there was a fatality.

Debra: "Frank Barone's 'l Was Just Thinking."' What is this?
Ray: It's his column.
Debra: His column?
Ray: His column. Yeah, he wants me to hand it to my editor.
Debra: Oh, you're kidding.
Ray: Look at this: "The chirp of the cricket has been replaced by the car alarm. God only knows what will replace the car alarm." What is that? What could that possibly mean? Oh, God, he's out of control!
Debra: "l like the smell of a freshly painted room as much as the next guy. But in the end, wallpaper is easier to clean." Hmm.
Ray: Yeah, all right, so he's right about that.

Frank: There you are! Your friends are really gung-ho about that computer stuff. Personally, I don't see what they're so excited about. Maybe it's all that lnternet porno.

Frank: Wait. Here's one. "Poetry! Get to the point!"
Ray: Who could argue with that?
Frank: Yeah, yeah, yeah. "How about those poems that don't even rhyme? That is this man's definition of lazy."
Ray: My job is done here.
Frank: "Make up your mind, America, is it often or of-ten?"
Ray: Ha, you're the king of those. All right, I'm gonna go run and tell everybody.
Frank: Hey, Ray, what did you think of my column?
Ray: I thought it was great, Dad.
Frank: Thanks. "Amish people, friend or foe?"

Ray: Come on in. This is great. You have really got to meet Debra.
Kareem Abdul-Jabbar: I could have signed a book for her at the store.
Ray: But she's a big basketball fan. Come on, this will be fun.
Kareem Abdul-Jabbar: Jeez, maybe I should just leave a signed basketball.
Ray: No, this will be great. Watch this. [wakes Debra up] Debra.
Debra: Hi.
Ray: Who's your favorite basketball player of all time?
Debra: Michael Jordan.
Ray: No, no, no, retired. Retired basketball player.
Debra: Oh, Larry Bird.
Ray: He played for the Lakers.
Debra: Wilt Chamberlain.
Ray: This isn't my house. That's what it is.
Kareem Abdul-Jabbar: I want my book back.
Ray: Kareem. Come on. I'll make you something to eat.

Ray: Hey, Robert, what are you doing here?
Robert: I had a suspicion I need to confirm.
Debra: Robert, what's wrong?
Robert: I don't think Michael likes me anymore.
Debra: What are you talking about?
Robert: He's not like Geoffrey, he seems stand-offish.
Ray: You know Michael is a baby, right?
Robert: It's just a feeling. Cop's instinct. He wants nothing to do with me.

Ray: "Throughout our first week of basic training"
Frank: Louder and funnier!
Ray: "Our drill sergeant--"
Frank: Stand up! Stand up!
Ray: Oh, come on!
Frank: Up, up! There you go.
Ray: "Our drill sergeant stressed to us the importance of addressing all officers with what he called 'a sir sandwich.' 'Sir, yes, sir. Sir, I don't know, sir,' and the like. A few days later, a colonel approached me in the motor pool to ask what I was working on. Using the sir sandwich, I said: 'Sir, checking the oil, sir, in these jeeps, sir, and, sir, checking the tires, sir.' The colonel laughed and said, 'Private, I appreciate your respect, but I don't need a sir club sandwich.'
Frank: Thank you, thank you, thank you. True story.

Frank: "Teenage boys can be shy and awkward. Their voices crack, their skin breaks out, and they're afraid of anything in a dress. This was especially true for my son Roy."
Ray: Dad, you're writing about me!
Frank: It says Roy.
Ray: Oh, thanks, Dod.
Frank: Hey, look, I'm using what we call "artistic license" there. Sure, I'm writing about my kid, but it's got to come off like anybody's kid. You see, I have to write as the Everyman.
Ray: You're the Everyman?
Frank: Right. It's got to mean something to Debra and Marie, the guy in snowbound Sweden looking for a laugh.
Ray: Oh, especially him. Yeah, okay.
Ray: Look, Dad, I got a column due in about an hour. All right? So I'm gonna see you.
Frank: "Roy, being a typical teenager, was besieged by raging hormones making it difficult for him to keep his mind on his studies."

Frank: Go on, don't let me bother you. This is the toughest part, isn't it?
Ray: What?
Frank: That. The blank page. It just sits there and mocks you. Dares you.
Ray: Annoys you. Bothers you.
Frank: I guess so. Well, go on, write. Conquer the blank page. I'm not even here. [Ray starts writing] Shouldn't you indent?
Ray: Dad, don't you wanna get started on that story about the twins?
Frank: No rush. It's fermenting.

Frank: You know, Ray when I retired, I thought, "Well, this is it." You know, sometimes I just sit there saying: "l got nothing left." But with this writing thing, it's like I got a new lease on life. I can't describe it. It's like for the first time, in a whole lot of years I feel... good.
Ray: That's good, Dad. That's nice. I'm glad.
Frank: Well, I got you to thank for it. You're a writer. I look at you, and I see what I had in me. Hey, you know, now we know where your talent comes from. So, go on, show me your chops. Did you know Mark Twain had a son who was a writer?
Ray: No.
Frank: You know what they called him?
Ray: No.
Frank: Choo-Choo. [laughs] Choo-Choo Twain! That was in the Digest.