[Terrence is sitting in a large chair in his living room. He seems to be watching television, but nothing is on. Mother enters.]
Mother: How much longer are you going to do this? Because two can play at this game. I can hold out just as long as you can—maybe longer.
Mother: Dan! Come in here!
Father: What is it, Darlene?
Mother: He’s still at it.
Father: Still at what?
Mother: This game he’s playing.
Father: What game? [Looks around.] I don’t see any game.
Mother: Idiot. This game.
Father: Honey, what game?
Mother: This game! This elaborate scheme! This deadly challenge that strikes every chord in my fragile mind and makes me feel like less of a parent—less of a person—and more like a tool—a tool used to bolster one sick little bastard’s self-esteem!
Father: You are so fucked up. [Exits.]
Mother: I will get you, you little fuck. I swear to God, I will! [Exits.]
Terrence: There’s a penguin in my liver.