Free Why We Suck by Denis Leary

and therefore become privy to all the nuances and tricks and nervous tics and tells involved in the process of putting one over on somebody else and I, most importantly of all, would have gotten away with a lot more shit. Other favorites of hers included rigamarole, hooliganism and cahoots. All three of which-along with codology-were fired at us, I realize now, whenever we did try to lie, cheat, steal and/or bullshit our way around her set of rules. Dammit. She knew what she was talking about. Okay-back to the beating.)
        I have definite and vitally bright images of that beating in the bathroom she is referring to-so gathering us around to watch Johnny getting dragged in there and the sounds of him getting hit with that belt more than certainly did their job. After that, I don't think my dad ever had to administer another belt beating-all he had to do was threaten to take it off or begin to unbuckle it.
        And I distinctly remember how my mom would whack us on the knuckles with a hair brush or a wooden spoon or even a dough roller-whatever she happened to have in hand when we got on her nerves. She was like a Ninja Mom-suddenly springing on you with a fork or a can of Spam or a whole cucumber. My mom was like Rachel Ray on steroids: she would be chopping up some carrots one second and then furiously mugging you with a Crock-Pot cover the next.
        My dad? All my mom needed to say was "Wait until your father hears about this." Yeah-that's right. Until he HEARS about this. Most kids receive the "Wait until your father gets home"-which usually meant you had at least a few hours to come up with a different story or maybe move a few facts in the story around a little bit. Embellish. Rehearse. But my dad was a mechanic and he worked in a garage about five minutes from the apartment so all Ma had to do was pick up the phone and about seven minutes later he was headed up the back stairs-removing the belt from his pants as he did so. Your ass would start hurting just watching him.
        Let's put it in plain, blunt verse: if someone punched me hard in the face every time I lit up a cigarette I'd either have to start smoking while wearing a football helmet or just quit smoking. The same Pavlovian dog rule applies to kids-anything they get hit for doing you can be damn sure they will not wish to do again. No pain? No gain.
        The state of Massachusetts recently considered a bill brought by its Joint Committee On Children that would become the country's first ban on corporal punishment of kids. It cost several million dollars.
        (This reminds me-by the way-of the study done two years ago-again costing millions of dollars-to find out that being in a rock 'n' roll band actually shortens your life span. Yeah. They had to spend that much to figure out that being in a band increases your alcohol and drug intake and places undue stress on the heart, lungs etcetera etcetera. Not to mention being married to Courtney Love. That REALLY shortens your life span. Especially if there's a shotgun in the house.)
        So Taxachusetts actually spent millions of dollars of taxpayers' money and an unbelievable amount of absolutely wasted time to figure out that whacking kids on the ass or across the back of the head not only makes them cry-it strikes the fear of God into them. This is roughly equivalent to spending seven million dollars and sixteen months to find out that sticking your hand in a fire not only hurts like hell-it sears the flesh and almost certainly guarantees you will never ever ever ever do it again.
        What the fuck is getting a good hard kick in the ass or a sharp swack across your skull SUPPOSED to do? Make you ask for more? For every action there is an equal and opposite REaction-in this case? Whatever the fuck you just did wrong you sure as hell won't do wrong again.
        Unless you actually LIKE the pain, in which case the physical abuse becomes a defendable form of medical research: your