Our mother hates us.
That's the comment I got when I asked The Brothers to vacuum the living room and sweep the dead leaves from the porch and front walkway.
I thrive on hatred, I told them. Don't let my peacenik ways delude you of my real intentions. You might have to turn over those iPhones, iPod Touches, tightropes, horse heads and skateboards in exchange for a childhood of indentured servitude if you don't get busy right this second.