Son ...

I am holding my temper very carefully with both hands. If I trip, or you trip me, or the wind shifts or there is a tiny tiny little earthquake in Aptos or one of the dirtbags next door plays his shitty music just a smidge louder than usual or even one extra seagull shits on the Farallones, well, I might lose my grip on it. My temper, that is. And please let me assure you: That is not a sight you would like to see. I lose my temper, I drop it to the floor, and the motherfucker will burn a hole through the fucking linoleum, react chemically with the subflooring, and erupt in a volcano made of MELTED YOU.

So: Back off now, Chuck. Right motherfucking now.