Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

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