Grandpa Gustafson: What the... what the hell is this?
John Gustafson: That's lite beer.
Grandpa Gustafson: Gee, I weigh ninety goddamn pounds, and you bring me this sloppin' foam?
John Gustafson: Ariel's got me on a diet because the doc said my cholestorol's a little too high.
Grandpa Gustafson: Well, let me tell you something now, Johnny. Last Thursday, I turned 95 years old. And I never exercised a day in my life. Every morning, I wake up and I smoke a cigarette. And then I eat five strips of bacon. And for lunch, I eat a bacon sandwich. And for a midday snack?
John Gustafson: Bacon.
Grandpa Gustafson: Bacon! A whole damn plate! And I usually drink my dinner. Now, according to all of them flat-belly experts, I should've took a dirt nap like thirty years ago. But each year comes and goes, and I'm still here. Ha! And they keep dyin'. You know? Sometimes I wonder if God forgot about me. Just goes to show you, huh?
John Gustafson: What?
Grandpa Gustafson: Huh?
John Gustafson: Goes to show you what?
Grandpa Gustafson: Well, it just goes... what the hell are you talkin' about?
John Gustafson: Well, you said you drink beer, you eat bacon, and you smoke cigarettes, and you outlive most of the experts.
Grandpa Gustafson: Yeah?
John Gustafson: I thought maybe there's a moral.
Grandpa Gustafson: No, there ain't no moral. I just like that story. That's all. I like that story.
