A father and son sit in front of the TV for dinner. The father passes out paper plates topped with slices of Tombstone Pizza. From a cooler he keeps by his recliner, he pops a Coors Light for himself and tosses a Mountain Dew to his son. He turns on NASCAR, though he and his son live in a double-wide half a mile from the race. 

Son: (Returning his slice of pizza to his plate) Fath-a, I have not a friend in the world. Not a single chap will play with me at the schoolyard.

Father: (Through large bites of pizza) My dear child, are you professing that you asked every person to engage in whimsy and merriment yet they unanimously voiced “nay?”

Son: Not to that extent, Fath-a. I was attempting to join Stephanie and Kiley’s game of Touch and Go, yet not one kinder fellow would bid me their attention.

Father: Did you call upon Maude or Jack? 

Son: Heavens, Fath-a! I don’t want to play with those jesters.

Father: (Finishing his beer and grabbing another) Ah ha! I do believe I have unearthed the issue!

Son: (Starting to eat) Is that so, Fath-a? Oh, please, do tell!

Father: You do not mean “Not a single chap will play with you.” What you mean to express is the people with whom you want to play do not want to play with you.

Son: Why, I… 

Father: (Picking up and eating a pepperoni that fell on his groin) If Stephanie and her lot are not including you, find other blokes! Who cares what that posh clique thinks? Play with those who take delight in being around you! You will feel most jovial with them anyhow. 

Son: But, Maude and Jack are “odd doves.” Stephanie said that. 

Father: If you believe that claim, I think you are just as poor-hearted as dear Stephanie, except Stephanie has friends. The father returns his attention to the TV and falls asleep minutes later, still clutching his beer.