JOI's father's garage monologue — "Come here, kid. C’mere c’mere c’mere…"
Come here, kid. C’mere c’mere c’mere c’mere. That’s a boy. That’s my J.O.I. of a guy of a joy of boy. That’s my kid, in his body.
Context
The drunk father's moment of tenderness arrives as wordplay: the boy's initials punned into "joy," syntax collapsing ("of a guy of a joy of boy") as the flask empties. Even affection in this family is routed through language-games — the son is named, hugged, and phonetically decomposed in the same breath.