"I have not felt remotely cool for a long time, thanks largely to the relentless efforts of my teenage son, whose goal in life is to make me feel 3,500 years old. We'll be in the car, and he'll say, 'You wanna hear my new CD?' And I, flattered that he thinks his old man might like the same music he does, will say 'Sure!' So he increases the sound-system volume setting from '4' to 'Meteor Impact,' and he puts in a CD by a band with a name like 'Pustule,' and the next thing I know gigantic nuclear bass notes have blown out all the car windows and activated both the driver- and passenger-side air bags, and I'm writhing on the floor, screaming for mercy with jets of blood spurting three feet from my ears. My son then ejects the CD, smiling contentedly, knowing he as purchased a winner. On those extremely rare occasions when I like one of his CDs, I imagine he destroys it with a blowtorch." - Copy to Clipboard
-- Dave Barry
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