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You are listening to the Next Best Picture podcast, and this is our review of the King of Staten Island. I like your tattoos. What are those numbers on your arm? Oh, that's the date my dad died. He was a fireman. Died in a fire 17 years ago. Oh my God, I'm so sorry. Don't be. It's fine. Knock, knock. Who's there? Not your dad. I should be a little bit, roll it up, take it hit.

You can't focus on Scott anymore, honey.

He's 24 years old, Marjorie.

Let that fucking bird fly, please.

Don't worry, Mom.

I know your daughter got smart and went to college and abandoned us.

But I'm still here.

I'm gonna be here forever.

Yeah. People told me slow my role.

I want to become a real tattoo artist.

Your work is mad and consistent.

Obama ain't right.

Oh, I love your tattoos.

This is my favorite.

I've been dating someone for a little while now.

The first guy you date in 17 years is a fireman just like that?

You don't think that's weird? I'm fine once a kid. You're gonna have to pull your weight a little more around here. Maybe help Ray get his kids to school. Kelly, do you know him? He's a new friend. You okay? You know you can tell me. I'm okay. Oh, I trained her in the car. She's not going to break. You ever think about putting on the jacket? Why would you even ask me that? What's wrong with being a fireman? It's fine if you don't have kids. Because you don't know if you're going to come home or not. And then your kids are fucked up. You make everyone around you feel crazy. People are normal, then they hang out with you, and then they're fucking Jack Nicholson in The Shining or something.

I gotta tell my mom you tried to drown me.

To the fuck ground pool, you're like fucking eight feet tall.

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