Rob Reiner to Conan O’Brien on 12.13 (two or three hours prior to the start of Conan’s Christmas party): “My son Nick is really whacked out now, Conan. So whacked that I’m spending tens of thousands each month to have him professionally watched and cared for, but he’s also seething and fuming all the time and I’m afraid that if Michele and I leave him home in order to come to your party this evening, he might…Jesus, maybe whack out and destroy something or maybe even burn our house down….who knows?
“So is it cool if we bring Nick with us? He might agitate a few guests and he won’t be dressed appropriately and he might even pull his dick out and urinate on the plants, but we’re afraid of leaving him alone. I love my son, Conan, but he’s a fucking nutbag. On top of which he’s an ape…6’3″ and kinda fat.”
Nick Reiner to Bill Hader at Conan’s party: “Are you famous?”
Hader to Nick Reiner: “This is a private conversation”, which translates into “get away from me, fat babycakes…you’re obviously trying to piss people off by asking hostile questions, and you’re obviously not worth talking to.”
Nick Reiner to self: “That’s it…I’m just been figuratively spat upon by one of my father’s famous friends. That makes me very angry, and I might…well, who knows but I might want to strike back…return the pain that’s just been injected into my system.”