They should teach it like the old days when the old man would come stomping up the stairs, throw open your bedroom door and fire in a bundle of old playboy magazines and a pack of smokes like they were active grenades, then he grumbles something and slams the door shut and goes stomping to his office where the cracks a bottle of scotch and stares into the fire while hoping that no questions will be asked and the side benefit is that his dirty rotten kid won't ever want to smoke again.
__________________
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
|