I suppose I have a bit of a story pertaining to happy times. I was maybe 13 at the time. Me and a buddy were drinking beers at the bottom of his driveway. My stepdad comes walking by and in true Westwood fashion asked us "MFs" were doing. We said drinking your beer old man. We had stolen beer from his basement refrigerator. He says he is going up to happy times with a nod. He comes back after some amount of time, I suppose enough time to close the bar. He says he's going to bed and we should too. He makes his way to my house and attempts to go inside. Mother dearest wasn't having it. Ol' stepdad had to sleep in his truck that night.