I was tempted numerous times to try feeding my teen-age sons that way, and no barrel was involved. I’ve watched a brother and two cousins raise girls – talk about being grateful for what you didn’t get! I wanted daughters, but I was lucky.
Boys are just as bad, but in different ways. Yes, really. And boys whine. They whine and they whine and they whine. Around age 12 they go silent–so you never know what’s up. With girls, they never shut up, and they give you waaaaaay too much information.
I’d like to have a boygirl (like catdog). They would even one another out.
“You can’t be serious, Doctor! After they’re done, there’s nothing LEFT!”
Boys: awful. Our 14 year old exhausts me more than the 3.5 year old.
W. C. Fields beat us to it:
Good attribution but you were already beat to it in post 18. by **Cheez_Whia **
Well, W. C. Fields is both older and deader than my ex-husband. 
My condolences.
When I was a kid The Amityville Horror commercials scared the hell out of me because they were “true”.
More recently the “it’s true… and the only ghost ever to kill someone in U.S. History!” angle was played up for An American Haunting, which has a flashback involving the Bell Witch (a series of probably more or less actual strange/unexplained happenings that grew with every single telling until by the late 19th century it involved disembodied voices and Andrew Jackson and murders and everything else other than the probably mide genuinely “spooky” (but somehow explicable, just unknown) things that really happened.
I remember when that movie came out descendants of the Bell family were furious and a couple talked about suing (not that I think you could sue to protect the reputation of an ancestor who’s been dead for a century and a half) because it turns out the witch is (big spoiler to the movie) Bell’s live daughter, who’s faking a haunting to take revenge on her dad for molesting her which of course no more happened in real life probably than a witch murdering John Bell (who, IIRC, was not even the original “murder victim” in the stories but became so in later tellings because he was a lot better known).
Thank god I have boys.
That, and I know that my mother sucks cocks in Minnesota. Not hell.
Wow. That explains so much.
A-men. I was a good kid (my parents say so, anyway) and I can still remember this awful feeling of general itchiness/angst/discomfort inside my own skin, and a conviction that nobody understood me, so powerful that it would bring me to tears. Just describing it is difficult, as I don’t really know how to put it into words.
I still occasionally have dreams where I feel this way and my mother and I are yelling at one another-- then I wake up and realize that I’m all growed up now, and I don’t have to feel that way anymore. What an incredible sense of relief…
Crap! What did she do?
My kids (one of each) had their moments. My daughter had some major Drama Queen incidents, and my son was heedless and messy & irresponsible. Now they are both grown (Doe just turned 21; Nick will be 22 next week), and I actually miss the days of their childhoods… Their teenage years? Not so much!
After guiding my hardheaded son (now 17) through adolescence (using main force and deep-breathing techniques), I am amazed that my mother let me and my sister live past the age of 14. Once, after a particularly frustrating episode with The Boy, I even called her up to apologize. She cackled gleefully and said, “Revenge is sweet!”
Mini-Marli is 9 and already developing the body of a 12 year old (seriously, what 9 year old needs boobs? She has no idea what to do with them). I figure I have at most 2 years of peace and sunlight left before she goes completely insane. And I have no doubt my mother will be watching and giggling the whole time.
What goes around comes around. My grandchildren will avenge me.
I’ve related this before, but my brother’s 3 daughters are each one year apart in age. I recall him saying the when they were 16, 15, and 14 he spent more time in the garage and outside than he did in his own house.
I never got stories like this–if I told my mom to blow me or exploded over dessert, my mom would totally have bitch slapped me into the next century. What gives?
This is the next century. 
It sure is. :eek:
I’m on the second round of the boy-raising adventure. Two boys, 13 and 11. I thought their Dad and his brother were a tough go.
This is HARD work. Really hard.
Next time around, I’m not having kids.
Or, I’ll try the barrel thing. Sounds good to me.
Still, they do grow up sooner or later. It’s the later that gets ya.