Hey kids, wake up. We need to have a talk. Huh? I don’t know, about 2 AM, I think. Listen, I have to tell you all something. It's about your mother and I. But before I do, I want you to know that no matter what happens, we’re going to love all of you a little more or less, depending on how we’re feeling day-to-day. Our emotions toward you have been kind of hazy these last few weeks. But right now you all seem like pretty solid peeps in my book.

So you’ve probably noticed your mother and I fighting a lot lately. All the time, actually. Yes, Emily, even when we’re not yelling, we’re still fighting. In fact, the non-yelling fights are worst. So cold. So hopeless. Oh so hopeless. More hateful than anything you’ll ever know, though they did usually take place in front of you, in your bedrooms. Or your classrooms—I don't know why we did that.

Nothing has been the same since… well, I suppose it started after you children asked us for that Xbox 360 last year. God, that really put a lot of financial strain on our relationship—not that any of this is your fault! I mean, not all of you. It’s just one. One of you is to blame. I think its best not to say who, though. I leave it to the three of you to figure that out. Your quarrels are your own.

I was discussing our family's new living arrangements with this guy I work with, Tim Haverchuck, while waiting to be seated at the Olive Garden last night, and decided it would be most interesting if we split you kids up. So Chris and Michael, you’ll stay here with your mother. Emily, you’re coming with me to North Dakota. Everything will change.

Yes, Liam? Oh, right. I forgot about you. Well, your mother and I kind of had this whole thing planned out already. Why don't you stay on your Aunt Klein’s turnip farm in Appalachia? I think you met her at Emily's First Communion when you were five. She was the racist one with the saliva deficiancy. Don't worry, she’s very nice to white people. Don’t be scared, Andover! You’re gonna have tons of fun on that farm. Huh? “Snakes?" No, no—there’s, like,  no such thing as snakes, son. Right? Isn't that what I say to stop stuff you're afraid of?

Look, I know this is is rough for you guys, but we’ll have plenty of time to talk about it on the drive to the airport—which is in about 20 minutes, actually. The red eye to Tiajuana for a 200-dollar divorce. Can any of you drive stick? Only automatic? Wow, you kids got a lot of growing up to do.