There's nothing like the bleeding eardrums that develop after an hour in traffic with 2 kids fighting over 1 Slinky and the complaining, over the increasingly deafening drive-time radio, about how scratchy the seat is. All parents enduring this should be forgiven for leaning out the door, grabbing the scruffy window washer at the lights by the shirt front and screaming “Stuff the wash and wipe buddy, I’ll give you fifty bucks for what’s left of your home brew!”.
What drives you to drink?
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