American Dad!

That's when it hit me

like a ton of bricks...

bricks might be hard,

but growin' up is harder.

Like a super-hard brick.

Thank you!

What's wrong with me?

I should have put bricks in my story.

Klaus, relax.

Your story has nothing to do with bricks.

- It's about a brick layer! - It is?

Next on stage... Klaus Heisler!

When I was 10, all I wanted to be

was a wall-building guy like my grandpa.

He would stack these...

eh, you know, they... they go on each other,

but never right on top?

They'd be like this and this and then here and here...

Why are you telling stories?

Eh, this is a storytelling event.

Are you Mother Goose?

Okay, I'm going to continue.

Continue boring everyone?

Eh, no one's bored.

I'm actually pretty bored.

Then get the fuck out!

Sir, the bathrooms are located in the back.

Why are you taking a dump on stage?

Not bored anymore!

Nothing but junk mail.

Letter from Francine's mom, biopsy results,

cease and desist... it came!

It came! It came!

Francine, a reply from the Bazooka Sharks!

Don't move! I'm headin' your way!

- Eee! - What's this now?

Your father and I wrote a letter to Bazooka Sharks' management

outlining our concerns and suggestions

for the future of the franchise.

Okay. Moment of truth.

I love you, baby.

"Dear Sharks fans,

thank you for your interest in the team."

Hell yeah! Great start.

"We appreciate your passion and continued support,

and hope for a better result next season."

Go on.

That's... That's it.

Are you guys okay?

I know you can go a little cuckoo over your beloved Sharks.

Okay. Good.

Just... checking.

Good morning, everybody.

Well, look who it is... Mother Goose.

Get your cocoa and blankies, everyone.

It's story time.

My blankie's in the dryer!

Oh, you want a story? Here's one.

It's about an insignificant grey douchebag

who ruins his friend's storytelling event.

Roommate's storytelling event.

Face it, Roger. You're just a hater.

You have no real talent.

Sure, you know how to tear down,

but you can't create.

I can create.

My personas?

Masks.

Costumes.

You don't have the balls to put yourself out there like me,

to risk ridicule contributing

something meaningful to the world.

This is a brutal takedown.

Deep down, you are a coward.

Wha...

That's not...

Guys?

Room for one more?

This letter sucked.

It didn't address a single one of our points.

And we had a lot of good ones.

It's like they're obsessed with the forward pass.

Why? It's so risky.

Whatever happened to establishing the run?

To smashmouth football?

To ground and pound, baby!

I'll tell you what happened... analytics.

Moneyball.

Nerds.

We don't need eggheads.

We need leatherheads, Stan.

I know that, my queen,

but the bean counters runnin' the show don't.

Well, maybe we need to make them understand.

Ground and pound them.

Oh, yeah! Let's smash 'em!

Yeah! Kill 'em?

No. Smash their corporate offices.

Okay!

How?

My friend Nerfer's got an armor-plated bulldozer!

- Oh... - Oh, yeah!

It's been a while since we've done this, Klaus...

watched TV together in total silence.

It's nice.

Klaus, about yesterday...

No, let me go first.

You were a huge dick at my reading,

but I was very hard on you.

- It's okay. - No, no, please.

I owe you an apology.

But I'm only going to give you the apologetic tone...

because I'm not sorry.

Thank you for the tone. It's more than I deserve.

I thought about it, and you were right.

You have the courage to put yourself out there

in a way I never do.

- Here. - What is it?

It's me putting myself out there.

Just open it. God!

It's... beautiful.

- Steve, look. - It is good.

But is it better than being quiet and watching TV?

I don't know.

What's good, my man?

Oh, say, where can we find the corporate offices?

Do you want to do something bad to them?

With your Killdozer?

Once sec.

- No? - In that case,

here's the address.

Their offices are in South Dakota.

Oof. That's a schlep.

- Big time. - You wanna call off the rampage?

Does this answer your question?!

Killdozer rampage still on!

Yeah!

Roger?

In the back! Through my secret door!

What is this place?

In the '40s, it was a button factory.

Now? My art studio.

You made this?

I had no idea. You're an artist.

Well, I don't know about "artist."

I'm... I'm just dabblin'.

- Goofin', really. - Goofin'?

It's incredible.

The weathered gills, the pain in the eyes.

It's a window to my soul.

That's what I was going for.

Is that a painting of me?

They're all you, Klaus.

You are my muse.

Oh, shit.

- Family announcement! - Family announcement!

- Where is everyone? - I don't know.

Something about establishing the run. What's up?

Roger's an artist, and I'm his muse!

Oh. Mazel tov.

Well, the important thing is the world needs to see your art.

You're doing a gallery opening.

As if.

Who'd be interested in my silly little scribbles?

Prolly no one.

I sold all my art!

A toast to everyone who made

my first gallery opening a success.

Of course, Hovek... beautiful Hovek...

for providing such a dynamic space.

Carl, a man I met just moments ago...

Hello?

Aren't you gonna mention your muse?

Klaus, zip it. Go back to the muse table.

There's no muse table.

What? But artists need to quaff wine

and belly laugh together,

far from the din of their simpering muses.

- Have one set up. - Me?

Just get it done!

Look at him, sucking the marrow out of life.

And I'm sitting here like a schmuck.

Why would he treat me like this?

Oh, listen to you.

Isn't it enough to be a part of something artistic,

something meaningful?

You're right.

I should be thanking Roger.

Hey!

Why am I hearing the muse table?

I'm trying to tell a ribald anecdote over here!

Sorry. Now, how far did I get?

We got the priest,

we got the urinating up and down the back,

we got my great joke.

"Christening? More like pissening."

Maybe that's it.

Maybe that's the whole thing.

Another home-run story in the books.

We are rampagin'.