Our Publicist Said We Can't Talk About This

Oh my God, that's the most Wyatt thing to do ever.

He did it like 5 fucking times. He was like, oh God, I'm like, just fucking leave the ball, just come back and play. I want to go over there and I want to get— he asked me to play tennis every fucking night and I'm like, I'll go, but I got to get a sweat on.…

I got a goal, Wyatt, but you can't play like a pussy, okay? Because Papa needs to shred some fucking calories.

And if you're not gonna make me run, then you better fucking sit at home.

That's how we do it too. I go, let's go, let's go, keep playing, I gotta get my heart rate up. And so he can't serve, so I allow him to serve as much as he wants. So sometimes he'll serve like 7 times, but then otherwise he's good, like he can actually play.…

'But then you're not.' And I'm like, 'No, I usually just hit it.' Your son seems like the perfect person to talk to about the invention of night. I feel like he would—