Dave Kim: So, what are we doing, again?
Adam: Erica ditched me, and I gotta finish a rousing musical that ties six story lines together and makes the audience weep by tomorrow. Here's what I got so far. [catchy melody plays]
Dave Kim: Are those the opening bars to "You Can Call Me Al" by Paul Simon?
Adam: Gah! I knew it sounded familiar!

Geoff: Yoo-hoo. Geoffy's home. Oh, my, a guest? Erica, you didn't say anything about company. I'm so sorry. This is not how it normally looks.
Erica: Geoff, stop. You do not have to clean up for him. He was just leaving.
Geoff: So soon? A-At least stay for a beverage. We have Tab and sink water.
Adam: You've tempted me. I'm gonna park myself right here and make a night of it.
Erica: No! I have things to do.
Adam: Like finish a musical with your baby brother?
Geoff: Wow. You guys are a regular Rodgers and Hammerstein, except you're siblings and children and... Hey, look, a whole song about slides!
Adam: It's called "The Play Ground," and it's set in a playground. It makes you think.
Geoff: It almost does. A duet about monkey bars? I can't wait.
Erica: Well, you're gonna have to, because it's not happening.
Adam: Unless you take my hand and come with me to complete our theatrical destiny. Ohh! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!
Geoff: Stop by anytime. You're always welcome in our home.
Erica: No, he's not. And stop offering my Tabs to people.

Adam: Balls! Why would Erica screw me like this? A handful of drama kids are counting on me.
Barry: I'll do it.
Adam: No one's asking you. And what could you possibly bring to the table?
Barry: Oh, I bring everything to the table... chairs, place mats, napkin rings, decorative centerpieces, candles, my elbows.
Adam: Stop naming things that go on a table! I need music and lyrics.
Barry: Done and done. I'll write you the greatest rap known to man, and you can waste it on your lazy high school play.
Adam: Pass! I don't need you showing up out of nowhere, sucking on a treat, and insinuating yourself into my life!
Barry: You'll be back. They all come back. Except for all the ones who never come back.

Adam: Just letting you know I found someone to help me finish the musical. Oh, esteemed creative partner!
Erica: Barry? And is that the chalkboard from our house?
Barry: We tied it to the bumper and drove it here. It has little wheels.
Geoff: Dried fruit or nuts?
Barry: I'm allergic to both, but let's do it.

Erica: What the hell is going on?
Adam: Welcome to the new and very improved "The Play Ground," featuring Big Tasty!
Barry: Mm!
Erica: Dummies, all the chalk came off.
Barry: Oh, stupid outside!

Barry: This idiot is talking about injecting our musical with explosive, high-octane energy.
Adam: And it gets even more bonkers! Tell her who the main character is.
Barry: A giant, ass-kicking Tootsie Roll named Clyde.
Erica: Why the hell would a fighting chocolate treat be on a playground?
Barry: He fell out of a kid's pocket. Now he's gotta find his way back, with the help of Martin Riggs of Riggs and Murtaugh.
Geoff: You put the "Lethal Weapon" guys in your musical?
Adam: Just Riggs. He's an emotional time bomb, and he's got three jaunty numbers.
Erica: This is clinically insane.
Adam: That's the Riggs character. But don't worry. He accidentally blows himself up in the second act.
Erica: There's violence on the playground?!
Barry: And tons of sex. You know that big metal thing you spin? Some randy teens do unspeakable things on it. And the nudity is not tasteful.
Geoff: But isn't this show for kids?
Barry: I don't know who it's for. I just know it kicks ass.
Adam: Now tell 'em about the big finale.
Barry: Clyde the talking Tootsie defends the playground by destroying a robotic shark in a rap battle.

Adult Adam: [v.o.] After my sister rejected me and I rejected her song, the musical was stuck with the biggest reject of all... Barry.
Barry: This was a good decision.
Adam: I guess, man. Just do whatever.
Ms. Cinoman: Okay, dress is up. I need my Tootsie Roll and my Shark-I-Tron!
Dave Kim: It's always been a dream to work together. What am I, again?
Barry: The fool I'm about to lyrically smoke. Drop a beat!
Ms. Cinoman: You know, I had my doubts, but I think that this might work.
Barry: [raps] I'm a Tootsie Roll, my name is Clyde On the playground, I go down the slide I ride the swings and the seesaw With my main man Riggs, but not Murtaugh Something's comin' in the park It's a giant monster robot shark The kids all jump, the sharks attack Riggs jumps on my Tootsie back That's how I roll, Clyde the Tootsie Now all the fly ladies wanna play footsie Rest in peace, Martin Riggs!

Adult Adam: [v.o.] Growing up, my dad made all sorts of sounds. There was the grunt, the grumble, the mumble, the "Ah!", and, of course, the "Bup, bup, bup!" But it was his groan that really told the story. It was the sound he made before, during, and after work. It was clear to anyone within earshot he didn't enjoy his job. Allow me to translate.
Beverly: Toast?
Murray: [groans]
Adult Adam: [v.o.] This groan meant, "Every day's the same."
Beverly: Have a good day, honey.
Murray: [groans]
Adult Adam: [v.o.] And this one meant, "Not gonna happen."
Pops: He does not have the wind at his back.
Adam: I hope I never have to work for real.
Adult Adam: [v.o.] But my dad did, at his furniture store, the Ottoman Empire, every day for the last 20 years.

Vic: Good morning, sunshine. I bought you a Boston cream, extra cream.
Murray: [groans]
Adult Adam: [v.o.] Meaning, "I've already had four." And after a long day of sitting, selling furniture, and hanging with Vic, it was closing time.
Vic: Have a blessed evening, Mur.
Murray: [groans]
Adult Adam: [v.o.] That one was just a groan. Yep, for my dad, work wasn't the best. At least he joyfully returned home to his family.
Murray: Home. Nobody bother me.
Beverly: We're all on the same page, sweetie, so go relax. The TV's all yours.
Murray: Damn right.
Adult Adam: [v.o.] And the final groan could only mean one thing... "At least I have you, TV."

Ms. Cinoman: This year's spring musical will be... nothing.
Adam: So, then, an actual play? Finally, a gritty role I can sink my teeth into. Like maybe a working-class galoot who came back from the war with one less finger and a head full of horrors. His name is Jimbo, but people call him Tree.