Just back from collecting my folks from the airport - they've been to Amsterdam - and I'm only wishing they'd smuggled back something with heavy tranquilizing properties, in order to numb the pain of having to listen to them recount their rock 'n' roll exploits. All that talk of "massive spliffs...special cakes, gigglies" and "magic mushrooms" has brought me out in hives of mortification, and enlightened me with the profound realisation of just why so many rock star kids are a mess: you would be too, if you'd had to listen to this crap from your folks on a regular basis.
Hopefully next time they go away, they'll stick to the grape.
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