Very well, where do I begin? My ****** was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low-grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My ****** was a fifteen-year-old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My ****** would womanize, he would *****, he would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy...the sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My ********* was typical...summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent, I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds...pretty standard, really.
Other than that, I'm pretty sure my m-m taught me how to do laundry. She sure as hell didn't teach me how to cook as I am a much better cook than she. She taught me to balance a check book, do income tax, worry about **** that doesn't matter, look at the world in somewhat of a skeptical, stand-offish way, and trust very few people. She didn't teach me a whole lot, really. m-m is certainly not the only place to learn things, from older friends I learned how to change oil, replace an exhaust system, mount tires, shoot a 44 magnum, drive a car sideways in control on the dirt, and tune up a dirt bike. From porn movies I learned that women hold a physical attraction stronger than any other ***** in the universe, and a little bit on how oral sex is administered. From experience, I learned how to treat women with respect and dignity.
Basically, a guy can learn just about anything on his own but it sure as hell is nice if you give him a head start.
) treat me like their own ********. Sometimes they support me rather than dd, when I'm right. But they are always impartial. 
