Hey, I got an idea. If you aren't so bad... why don't you do it? Why don't you kill the...

[after Byrd tells Chuck to kill the unknown "mole"] Chuck Barris: Hey, I got an idea. If you aren't so bad... why don't you do it? Why don't you kill the mole? You got a problem with killing, Jim? Jim Byrd: I just don't fit the profile. Chuck Barris: What fucking profile? There is no fucking profile. Jim Byrd: Okay, there's no profile. Chuck Barris: There's no profile. Jim Byrd: Okay. Let's see. Well, you had a twin sister, stillborn, strangled by your umbilical cord. Your first hit, Chuck. Your mother always wanted a daughter. She blamed you for your sister's death. And, so, until your sister Phoebe was born, she raised you as a girl. Oh, and your father the dentist? Not really your father. Your biological father was a man named Edmund James Windsor. A serial killer. A fact your mother didn't know when she had an affair with him in 1930. If you want to look him up, he was also known as the Tarrytown Troll, because he had been described by witnesses as short and ugly. Windsor died in the electrical chair at Ossining in 1939. We believed your self-loathing tendencies coupled with that extra Y chromosome and whatever else you inherited from your father would serve us well. I'm trying to think what more I can tell you, but you have me at a disadvantage here, Barris. I don't have your files in front of me.