A 15-year-old boy asks his dad if he is allowed to have a few drinks at a party that evening. His dad says it's OK as long as he doesn't go too far. The next day, the boy wakes up in pain and discovers he is covered with bruises, but he can't remember a thing about the previous night. He asks his dad, "Did you beat me up last night?" "Listen, son," says his dad, "if you come home at four in the morning and ring the bell a hundred times, that's OK, I can live with that. If you run to the bathroom and puke in the bath and piss in the sink, that's OK, I can live with that too. If you call me a fat, ugly, pimping bastard, that's OK too. If you call your mum a stinking whore and a pox-ridden bitch, I can more or less let that slide. But if you go into the living room, shit on the carpet, ram a bunch of pretzel sticks up your arse and scream 'Right you old cunt! This is now the realm of the hedgehog!', there's a good chance I'll beat you up."
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