Our parents are weird now, right? I have kids, man. I have kids and parents.. I’m a generation between two generations. So, I’m taking care of my kids and my parents. At one point I had four in diapers and two of them were my parents. (Laughs to himself) Yeah, everybody got nervous on the diaper stuff. Ooh. A lot of you guys are in your 20s. Look how beautiful you are. All perfect and shiny. Fifty years from now? Diapers every one of you. That’s if it works out. That’s best case scenario. So, my mother and father haven’t spoken to each other in 30 years, and a year ago they both went into assisted living at the same time. I had to help them because I’m the sibling that takes care of the parents. So, I’m taking care of the parents. And so, it’s hard. If you’ve ever done assisted living with an elder family member then you know it’s not easy. It’s time-consuming, heart-wrenching, expensive. For me times two because they don’t talk to each other. So, I was holding out hope that the dementia would kick in and they’d lose their memory and I could put them into a two-bedroom apartment together and film that as a reality show. You’d binge watch “The Crazy Old Parents Who Don’t Know Why They Hate Each Other Show.” “I don’t know how you know my middle name and I’m gonna find out.” Weird now… my father is 83. he thinks computers aren’t going to work out. He’ll tell me that, “Don’t waste your money, son. The whole thing is a scam.” He printed up an email and sent it to me in the mail. He won’t get an email address. He goes, “That’s how they get your information. And then they know exactly where you are all the time.” I was like, “You haven’t left the house in 7 months. Everybody knows exactly where you are all the time. Quit sending me letters with human handwriting on them. It’s creepy.” Everything is automated now. We have email and the Post Office at the same time. We’re going to have to explain that in four decades to our grandkids that we simultaneously had email and the Post Office. That’s going to blow their minds. They’ll be like, “Grandpa, what was paper?” “It was made from trees.” “What were trees, Grandpa?” “It’s not important, son. We’ve got oxygen tanks now. Screw ’em. We don’t need them anymore. You’d write your little letter on a piece of paper and then you’d fold it up and put it inside of another piece of paper that had a little door on it. And that was called an ‘envelope’. Some people called it an ‘än-velope’. Those people were lunatics! And you’d take your letter to a dangerous, uncomfortable place called a ‘Post Office’. And you’d wait around for hours in the body odor and the lack of eye contact ’til you finally got to talk to an angry misshapen man who lived with his mother and had an inexpensive haircut. That man would sell you a little sticker you could put on your envelope and you’d lick it and get cancer and give it right back to him.” “And that’s when they would deliver my letter?” “No, son. A bunch of stuff happened after that. They’d shove it in a slot in the back wall where there were more angry people from bad families. Those trolls would put it on an airplane. It would travel hither and yon across the country. Sometimes for weeks! ‘Til someone finally discovered it was on the wrong aircraft!” “And that’s when they would deliver…?” “No, son. Not yet! That’s when they would accidentally deliver it to the neighbor of the person that you sent it to in the first place. Then that man, based on his relationship with his neighbor, would decide whether or not that scumbag was going to get his mail.