Brick: Hang on. This is wrong. None of us are being fair to Mom here. Maybe if you made your case.
Frankie: Oh, please. I am not gonna make my case. [mouth full] Okay, fine. First of all, I'm the one that does all things kid-related. I sign all your permission slips, I run out and get you poster board, I clean that cesspool you call a backpack.
Mike: Frankie, don't do this.
Frankie: Oh, I'm doing it. Do you know all three of your heads were unnaturally large, thanks to your giant favorite parent over here's weird genetic quirk? And that after 27 months of carrying you people around, I can no longer sneeze or laugh or jump in the bouncy house without peeing?
Mike: They don't really need to know that.
Frankie: Okay. What about tonight? Who's the one that got us out of the house, that packed the blue bag full of tasty chicken, and searched the newspapers for the best park with the best view of the best fireworks, all so we could create one stinking memory of "this"? Well, if anybody's still confused, it was me. Me, me, me. So just lie down, stop talking, and start watching, because nothing says summer like fireworks!
[After the family lay down and stare up at the skies, fireworks go off in the distance behind them]
Frankie: Nobody... say... anything.