Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

They've grown fond of this charade called Chris Peterson.
Amish?
Our conversations should be limited to stuff like, here's my rent check, sir.
Besides, they just try to track me down and buy me back.
Dad, if I'm not adopted, could you please explain this to me?
But to be honest, I never had the cheekbones to carry off that cute beard without a mustache look anyway.
Hey, what are we doing standing around gabbing?
I look nice and plain, don't I?
Like you buy everything else with your filthy money.
Those days are gone, long forgotten, like my size four underpants.
Well, don't you recognize me?
What are you saying?
No.
Mama, we've, uh, been standing out here staring at each other for 10 minutes.
And I have to travel all the way to the Pennsylvania Dutch country to be reunited with my natural Amish parents.
All the pieces of the puzzle are there.
Can you have a paper route when you're 30?
My skin just kind of comes alive in black.
The Beatles did do Hey Jude.