Why don't we save the song and dance for your Broadway debut, Sammy. If I wanted to hear campfire stories I'da stayed in the Girl Scouts. You can try to pretty The Truth up with a bunch of flowers and maybe some framed photographs of loved ones and deceased pets, but eventually you're gonna have to move, redecorate, or at least paint the walls, and you're gonna take all that frill and fluff off the hooks and guess what's gonna jump off the wall and tongue you on the pee flaps? THE TRUTH, that's what. It's gonna jump up on the coffee table like a giant elephant at dinner that no one wants to talk about, or like some guy's alcoholism, and it's gonna be wearin' a big ugly hat and it's gonna break vases screamin', "Why ya done hide me away like a retarded kid in a attic, Baby? Dont'cha remember when we used ta drive down the shore?" You won't remember because The Truth will be speaking figuratively. But The Truth will hold up a mirror and show you an old, old woman/man and you'll realize that all those years ago you had just one shot at honest, angry love and you tossed it in the garbage just because I wasn't brought up with a silver spoon in my mouth.
I may not have no family shield, but that's 'cause I ain't gotta hide behind nothin'. We got one shot at bein' happy. Don't throw it away.
Now, get in the van.