You know what the dialogue is to my son (in theory, not in practice) when we're on the road?:
Get your shit wired tight. Lock and load. Sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up. Daddy is the controller of everything you Have Done, everything you are Going to Do, and everyt'ing you are Considering Doing.
Don't look there, look here, I'm talking. Does it look like I'm not talking? When does it look like I'm not talking? When the bad guy comes and picks you up because you're not paying attention, takes you to his house and kills you after a couple of hours?
No, don't do that. Do this. No, don't do this, do that. Yes, what I said ten times a minute ago, except now I forget.
No, NO BATHROOM. Oh, okay, bathroom. Bathroom NOW. Now DADDY BATHROOM. No, my name is not Daddy. What's my name? What? Robinson? Goood . . . and what's the rest of it? What? DADDY ROBINSON? Who raised you, kid? You my kid or that guy's kid? Noooo, that guy in the corner looking angry's kid. You his kid?
Oh, okay, you're still my kid? No, you can't get a juice, because GUESS WHY: I HAVE ZERO MONEY.
A toy? What are you, fuckin' kidding??? Since when did I become Santee Claus? Huh? Look front, don't move, move now, and MOVE IT and don't lose Daddy's passport because Daddy lost it already.
That's the Theory.
The Reality is, "I love you, Daddy."
"I love you, Tai-chan, you can't possibly imagine how much."
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