well, it's a pathological patriphobia, resulting in a repressed psychogenic malaise. d what does that mean? you hate your father. you all right? i'm fine, pop. oh, i tell you-- hey, how come you got the couch made up like a bed? well, i thought when you got home, you'd be too sick to go upstairs. of course you did. that's another thing i love about you, pop-- the concern that you feel for me. i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you, say, w-w-what's happened? you act like you've been hit by a sugar truck. there's nothing wrong with me, pop. look at this. i feel great. you know, i went down to the doctor, and he gave me a new lease on life. i feel fan--look at--look at this. tennis, anyone? huh? well, what else the doctor say? i don't want to talk about it. i've got a headache. [melodramatic music plays] ely, continue, please. i can't say it. i'm--i'm so ashamed. oh, of course you can say it. we're so close to an answer. go on, please. look, tell me. what i say to you-- is it gonna be in the strictest of confidence? it's in the strictest o