KC: Hey Dad, what happened to your watch?
DAD: Why the hell would I wear a watch? I don't have anywhere to go, I'm retired. Dumbass.
KC: Oh. Yeah. Hey, watch out, that's poison ivy. I think.
DAD: Did I forget to mention that your uncles and I are immune to poison ivy? Doesn't do shit to us. So maybe you've got a 50/50 chance of catching that gene. But, since you're kind of a fairy, I doubt it.
The hike goes on like this for a few more trails.
DAD: So when I was growing up, my dad used to keep these pigs. He built this crappy wooden fence to keep them in, but it started rotting. For whatever reason, the rattlesnakes loved that rotten wood stuff. So my dad would chop the heads off the rattlers and throw the bodies into the pigpen. Those stupid snakes wouldn't even hit the ground before those hogs would eat them up. Not a scale left.
DAD: Did I stutter? You chickenshit. Once I ate snake in the Corps' survival training. That's United States Marine Corps, in case you forgot. Yeah, when I was your age the Corps dropped us off in the jungle and we had to eat what we could find. Johnson caught a snake, not a big one. We cooked it and ate it. It tasted what you'd expect a snake to taste like, but a lot of frickin' ribs. Then we killed a thing that looked like a giant beaver. I bet they didn't serve that at your NYU dorm cafeteria. Pansy.
KC (to himself): Holy crap, I am a pansy.
DAD: Check it out. An apple on a tree, those are the best. Why don't you grab that for your old man?
KC: Sure Dad.
KC jumps for it.
DAD: Hey, shitbird. Why are you jumping?
KC: I can't reach the apple, so I'm jumping.
DAD: Keep singing your ninnysong. How did my oldest son end up such a short peckerwood?
Dad walks right up, grabs the apple and takes a bite.
DAD: KC, you're such a faggot.
(Not a completely true story—my dad is actually slightly nicer than this—but this is how I choose to remember it.)