With much the same confidence and pride you imagine the fathers of our country must have felt when they brazenly took a dump in Boston Harbor on that fateful night back in the 60s, you wrestle the remote control from your father, and attempt to find Webster somewhere on TV.
As you flip through the channels, Poppy walks out of the room. A moment later, you hear his footsteps walking up the front stairs.
"Victory is mine," you think to yourself.
But you still can't seem to find Webster on any stations.
"Damn," you think. "Maybe the TV's broken."
You are so consumed in your search that you don't hear Poppy's footsteps coming back down the stairs.
But it certainly gets your attention when Poppy fires his old hunting rifle into the floor mere inches from your feet.
"Never ever ever, Bradford, may you take that remote away from me. Never!" says Poppy. By the look on his face, you can tell he's deadly serious.
Slowly you put down the remote on the table in front of Poppy's chair.
"Uh... sorry, Dad," you say quietly. "I... I'll go to Merv's to watch Webster."
Poppy says nothing, but glares at you intensely.
"L-lemme put the golf back on for you..."
"Bowling!" barks Poppy.
"R-right... bowling... sorry."
You flip through the stations until a bowling match comes on. You're pretty sure it's not the same match he was watching before, but it doesn't seem to bother Poppy.
You exit the living room.
Where do you
go?