mom, dad. meatloaf has come to represent all that ted hates about his mediocre life and the world we live in. he's what you'd call clinically bummed.
mom, dad. don't allow this disturbing behavior to furrow your collective brow. ted's just experiencing some post-adolescent turmoil, coming to terms with the whole "small town dynamic."
mom, dad. allow me to accompany ted. i can assure you, i'll be the level-headed sidekick to your angst ridden teen.
mom, dad. forget about roller blades for my birthday. i'd prefer a dna test. can you prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that i am not, for example, a guccione?
i love you, ted!
mom, dad. my trembling taste buds have just been assailed by the bittersweet knowledge of all they've been missing these past nine years.
ted has bettered our lives to the point where i can no longer see myself as "the old jimmy" i was but a day or two past. you may all call me james. from this moment forward.
mom, dad. the rockerfellers are paupers compared to my favorite brother, ted.
you can call me jimmy again. sheryl petersen said james sounds too pretentious.
she knew exactly where you were staying, which you neglected to tell me, your own brother.
impressive. this is bigger than our whole house.
they say money can't buy happiness but this is a reasonably good facsimile.
my new bike.
i came to ask permission to take custody of your room.
better view, more spacious, new carpet. it's a no-brainer.
mom and dad said it's yours. they seem to think you're coming home.
if you could just sign right there.
just a formality.
are you kidding? mom and dad discover i'm gone and i'll be doing hard time.
aside from the fact that mom's eyes are nearly swollen shut from crying and dad spends all his time under the car trying to fix stuff that isn't broken, things couldn't be better.
you can't come back. that is, you can, but your things will be in the room you currently think of as mine.
funny you should say that. my grandfather was a peach farmer.
i meant biologically.
look ted. i'm cool with everything. you've long been dissatisfied with our mediocre little town. you've always had an itch for the good life. i'm happy for you. this couldn't happen to a nicer guy.
but just for the record, my mom is a kick-ass schoolteacher and my dad is the best damn auto mechanic this side of the himalayas. you seem to have forgotten they opened nelson's family market so they could build something permanent, a legacy, for us. their kids.
you ever look down on them again and call them "grocers" like it's a dirty word, and you'll be sucking your filet mignon through a straw for six to eight weeks. got it?
mom, dad. this display of unconditional love is appalling.
a family, need i remind you, that he ridiculed and left for dead.
so, when i'm seventeen, can i turn everyone's life upside-down, behave like a total piece of canine excrement, and then wipe the slate clean with a half-baked apology and a kodak moment?
which is precisely why i got the rights to my new room in writing.
why so melancholy?
eat, drink, and screw mary!
from my wise, albeit youthful, vantage point, the world is your oyster. you scored big.