Good lord, I had some crazy dreams last night. In one, my grandmother was living in my dad's house, only it was like it had always been her house and he'd never lived there. And across the street lived a mother and grown son who were positively hideous. They'd come over and bother my grandmother at all hours--would walk in unannounced and unwelcome, help themselves to the refrigerator, never leave, etc. And they were making Grandmother's life hell, but she was too nice to tell them to go jump in the lake. Well, one day I went over there, and there was the mother. My grandmother looked like she was about ready to freak out, so I went off on the visitor. I told her that I'd fucking kill her if I ever saw her around there again, etc. She seemed to get the message and left, and I was all pleased with myself--but then the son came out of the bathroom, and he'd just dropped a big, steaming bomb in there. Apparently he quite enjoyed doing that all the time; he had a perfectly good bathroom at his house across the street, but he preferred to come to my grandmother's place to do his business. So I gave him the same spiel about not wanting to ever see him in the house again--and then, to drive my point home, I took off one of my Chuck Taylors and slapped him across the face with it a few good times.
WTF? I'd never have the guts to do something like that. My grandmother, on the other hand, would have shoe-slapped 'em in a second.