That's it! Time to join a multi-national and make some of that mad corporate cash while saving the world from grumbly tummies! You are so goddamned ethical... good god son! Make it funky now! You blast some tunes to celebrate your ideological triumph while busting some super fresh dance moves.
Your personal private disco continues on deep into the evening as your mother returns home from work, completely bushed, and hoping with some distant shred of long forgotten optimism that perhaps her worthless child had woken up before 5 PM and actually made her a meal. To her distress, she instead finds that her garden has evaporated, and her microwave has been coated in a sickening red goo. You gyrate blissfully on the shag carpet, completely blind to the smack that comes raging in from your left hand side. The bushy floor hair cushions your fall, but does nothing to salve the fury of blows that follow. If you hadn't been enraptured in joyous celebration, you probably could have Scandinavian Defensed your ass out of this beating, but Mum certainly got the upper hand here. Incapable of regaining a solid footing, you scuttle down into your basement lair to allow her to cool off, which she of course does absolutely nothing of the sort. A few gin Martini's later, and she becomes inebriated enough to mete out, in ego destroying fits of rage, your future punishment. Oh dear... you are WAY too grounded to ever be able to secure a job at a multi-national fooding industry now! Oh no!