I've always said, when I save $2,000 I'll get a place.
- How much have you saved? - 4,000.
I know what you're thinking.
What's wrong with me? Why do I stay? I was thinking I'm overpaying you.
My friends say, "You should be on your own, have a place, have a life.
" Why do I stay here? Could it be that maybe you you like us? My grandmother had a cat, a mangy old thing, kept ruining the furniture.
I asked her why she kept it and she said she liked having another heartbeat in the house.
It just makes me feel like I'm unambitious.
I could work in a hospital or a clinic.
Maybe that's not what's important to you right now.
You like being part of a family.
What's wrong with that? Nothing, I suppose.
Although my friends wonder how I can live with such demanding men.
- They call me demanding? - No, they call you a pompous ass.
- But you've learned that I'm not.
- No, I've learned to work around it.
I'm getting a beer.
I know it's bad for me, will make me fat, and keep me from exercising.
- You have anything to add to that? - Yes.
Happy birthday, you old sod.
They try to confuse you on purpose.
Room temperature.
Just like England - another place I'll never get to.
Dad you used to talk about going to Europe when your hip improved.
Now you say you'll never get there.
What's changed? Nothing! My hip's the same as the year ago.
I thought I'd be better but I'm not and probably never will be.
You're happy just sitting on your can, doing your show, living in your head.
I'm used to being out there.
Eddie! Listen, Dad, you can still travel.
No, you can.
If you can't walk around Paris, you could sit at a nice café and let Paris walk past you.
Maybe buy a drink for a beautiful mademoiselle.
Get a nice bottle of imported beer.
- I only like Ballantine's.
- In Paris, Ballantine's is imported.
And you are the handsome Américain with the adorable accent.
They like moustaches over there, don't they? Garage door's electric.
Can't open.
Bad lady upstairs.
Big dog.
Need place to die.
- Same to you, buddy! - Who are you talking to? Some rowdy guys downstairs.
Come on, I want you to introduce us.
- Keep your pants on.
- Let me take your coat.
- Haven't you taken enough from me? - You're being irrational.
- Sticks and stones.
- You're acting just like Dad.
You take that back! You're not really mad at me.
I didn't tell that woman to leave you.
I merely suggested it as an option.
It was all her choice.
Could it be you're upset because you couldn't help that woman? I really hate that when you take a simple criticism and turn it back on me.
- I think I'm right.
- Of course you are.
Why do you think I hate it.
Do you have any idea what I went through trying to help that woman? Yes, I think I do.
Niles, you're a perfectionist.
As faults go, that's not such a bad one.
Just would've been nice if I'd been the one to say it was time to go.
Instead, she had to hear it from some glib, albeit insightful, radio pundit.
Those guys invited us to a blackout party.
- They got cold beer.
- And Jarlsberg.
I was feeling a bit down, but suddenly I'm in a party mood.
- What about our party? - There are people downstairs.
- Come on, Frasier.
- No, thank you.
I'm not in the mood.
- Don't be a party-pooper.
- Let him be.
He was always that way.
Maybe it's time for a lesson about living the life of this party-pooper.
I spend the whole week ministering to the troubled, the neurotic and the sometimes plain goofy.
Then I hang up my earphones and it doesn't end there.
On the street, at the café, even in this building More people come up for help.
More problems.
I suppose they just think it's OK.
It's what I do.
But every time I try to help them it costs me a little piece of myself.
A little bit here, a little bit there Till I feel like a zebra carcass on the Serengeti surrounded by vultures.
This was one of those weeks.
I had my escape planned.
I was coming for an evening of fun with my family.
But I get you four of you going at each other like the Borgias on a bad day.
So I roll up my sleeves.
And I tend to each one of you, and you all feel better.
And the minute you get the whiff of mesquite coming from down below you are out the door without so much as a "thank you".
Well, thank you for the invitation, but I'm fed up with people and their problems.
The doctor is out.
Oh, come on.
- Apologies accepted.
- Great! So you'll come? No, no I love you all.
I really do.
But I want to be alone, right here, where no one needs anything from me.
- Well, all right.
- I'll bring you some barbecue.
Oh, my God.
It's dark out here.
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