“When I was 15 years old, my grandmother in upstate N.Y. used to watch me during the week whilst my parents worked in the city. One day, yours truly was f*cked up on Quaaludes, and I went up to my gram, who was BBQing burgers on the grill in front of our bungalow. I said, ‘Gram, you make them too well done, let me turn the burgers.’ She said, ‘Get away from me.’ I said, ‘Gram, you overcook them to death, they’re like hockey pucks when you’re done! I like them raw, let me turn the burgers!’ AGAIN she said, ‘Get away from me.’
“I grabbed for the spatula — she grabbed it back. A struggle ensued. Grandma — Manitoba. Grandma — Manitoba. The spatula went back and forth. I grabbed one last time, and GRANDMA WENT FLYING OVER ON HER ASS! The people in the other bungalows looked over, aghast, and said ‘Did you see what he did to his grandmother?’
“I stood over her triumphantly, spatula in hand, and as I looked at her lying on the ground I said, ‘Grandma, remember one thing. I am no mere mortal. I AM HDM, and I AM RIGHT!’”
— Salvi C.