PUT IT ALL ON RED

I’m not angry, Sam, but I’m extremely disappointed in you. Your mother and I get home an hour early from our party and what do we find? Our 14 year old son in the middle of opening a bottle of our liquor. It pains me to say it, but the only way I can be sure this never happens again is if you drink the entire bottle of rubbing alcohol.

I’m tired of your excuses. If you think I’m gonna fall for the old “I think I have a fever and I need to clean off the thermometer” gag, you’ve got another thing coming. No, you started this the moment you took off that cap and we’re not leaving this room until you drink every last drop.

Isopropyl? Look, you can spit out all the phony sci fi technobabble you want, but one thing you won’t spit out is that booze. Alcohol is alcohol and I’ll be damned if I let my son wind up wasting his high school career on that crap. Trust me, I’m not going to enjoy watching any more than you enjoy drinking it.

Some day you’re gonna thank me for this. What’s that? Poisonous? All of a sudden Mr. “Old Enough to Drink” can’t handle his liquor. Bullshit! You made your bed and now you’re gonna sleep in it.

I don’t like being the bad guy. But I’ve seen too many people go down that road and never come back. And the speech always sounds the same no matter who says it. It’s always, “I don’t need it, I just like it” or “it helps me get through the day” or “it has three carbon atoms, not two.”

It’s a lot better that you learn a painful lesson tonight so that I can trust you in the future. I never want to relive the time I caught your brother messing around with acid and made him eat a whole box of batteries.