"D'AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

Hank had just walked in on one of the most horrifying sights he'd ever seen. Bobby was on his laptop. But he wasn't "applying himself" like Hank wanted him to. Instead, Hank found his son on 4-chan, watching pornographic videos on his computer and tugging his tiger. He had a container of oleomargarine (FYI, that's the fancy word for margarine) on his dresser. Bobby took some out of the container and used it to polish his sword.

"Hey, Dad, why are you screaming and sweating so much?" Bobby asked innocently.

"Son!" Hank was now furious. "What the hell do you think you're doing!? Now get off that got-dang laptop right now, young man!"

"But, Dad." Bobby hesitantly attempted to come up with a believable, or at least, reasonable lie to get out of this situation. "...God told me to do it Dad!"

"BWAAAA!" bellowed Hank.

Well, that obviously didn't work, thought Bobby, that just made him even angrier!

"God did not tell you to do anything!" screamed Hank in blistering fury.

"Dad...?" Bobby's voice got really small.

"Bobbeh Hill, no cake for you tonight!" continued Hank. "And now, since I can't trust you anymore, you'll be using books to study instead of your laptop! That's hundreds of dollars wasted every year on gas just to drive you across town to the library! And after dinner, we're going to have to talk to you."

Hank took the laptop and began to walk out of the room with it. "Dad, what are you doing with my computer?" Now very upset, Bobby chased Hank down the hallway.

Hank said nothing, but kept walking. He opened the sliding glass door to the back patio.

"DAD, WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH MY COMPUTER?!" repeated Bobby.

Not wanting to make the evening even worse, Hank fibbed, "Uh, we burnt your cake by accident and I forgot the recipe, so, em, I need to use your laptop to find it again."

"Why are you going outside, Dad?"

"Son, you know EVERYTHING tastes better with propane!"

"You're grilling my cake with propane outside?" Bobby raised an eyebrow.

"Uh, sure, Bobbeh boy."

"Thanks for letting me have dessert tonight Dad," Bobby said, relieved.

Hank closed the sliding glass door. He looked at the internet history. Bobby had gone on at least six different porn sites. Enraged, he turned on the grill. "That boy ain't right..." As it warmed up, he pulled out a hammer. He was making a "special" dessert for Bobby.

As the smashed computer parts cooked on the grill, Hank added some propane for good measure. Giant flames exploded on the grill. He went back inside. Bobby ate in silence, while his parents had a whisper-conversation.

"What did Bobby do that made you so angry?" Peggy asked, taking a bite of salad.

"One word: pornography," answered Hank.

Peggy dropped her fork in shock. "MY son saw PORN? Why was he watching porn? He doesn't usually w..."

"OH, MY GOD, IT'S SO JUICY!" Hank screamed as he chewed his steak, interrupting the conversation. Bobby and Peggy stared with their jaws open wide. He swallowed. "Propane is the best! Peggy, your charcoal sucks!"

Hank had forgotten all about what his son did today on the computer. He had also forgotten about Bobby's special dessert. Smoke was seeping into the house because Hank had left the patio door open slightly.

"Uggh," Bobby grimaced, holding his nose. "What's that smell?"

"Oh, yeah," remembered Hank, "your chocolate cake. I'll just be a minute."

Soon, Hank returned to the table. He set a platter of burnt wires, springs, and glass shards on the table in front of Bobby. "Here's your consolation dessert!" he announced. It didn't take long for Bobby to figure out that it was the remains of his laptop.

So, Hank and Peggy had chocolate brandy cake with hazelnut frosting, while Bobby looked at his dessert of computer parts in disgust.

"Bobby, eat your dessert so you can grow up big and strong!" Hank encouraged Bobby, as if he was talking to a preschooler.

"If I eat this, I'll probably grow into Inspector Gadget," scoffed Bobby sarcastically.

"Bobby, you earned it, you'll eat it!" Peggy said angrily.

Bobby looked at his plate, then reluctantly speared some springs with his fork. He slowly lifted his fork to his mouth and tried to swallow. He choked on the springs and eventually coughed them back up. "May I be excused?" he asked, getting up from the table and running to his room. He fell asleep, even though it was only 6:30.