The Family That Kills Together, Stays Together
What started as a simple quiz became a masterclass in absurd problem-solving
“Quiz him now. Quiz him,” my father ordered.
I sighed. “Fine. I’ll quiz the quiz master.”
The quiz master smiled like this was perfectly normal.
I leaned in.
“If a father keeps nagging you forever, how do you eliminate him respectfully and still make it look like a family tradition?”
The teacher paused. After exactly six and a half minutes, he passed me a note.
“Use my family tradition — the sledgehammer,” the note read.
Outrageous! A sledgehammer? Couldn’t I just use something smaller — like a polite little knife?
I blurted, eyes wide.“The sledgehammer?”
“You want the sledgehammer?” My father raised his brow. “I’ll bring it for you. But first, quiz the quiz master. Quiz him now.”
The quiz master rolled his eyes. I rolled my sleeves.
“The knife is easier. Nobody noticed the last time I used it on Tony. He just pointed at me while choking on noodles. Everyone thought he wanted his noodles back.”
The teacher shook his head. “You silly student! Tony survived, didn’t he? That’s why we use sledgehammers — no loose ends.”
My father threw his hands up.
“Why can’t you do a simple job? Just quiz the teacher! Quiz him now,”
God, I wished I had a knife in my pocket. I could have pulled his hair and stabbed him right there.
“New models come with premium wooden grip,” the teacher added, noticing my frustration. “Perfect for family traditions.”
I stared at him, shaking my head.
Unbelievable. Cheap! Passing on wooden tools as family tradition? At least invest in something classy for killing your father. Otherwise, he might keep nagging from underground.
I checked my bag. For the knife. Or anything sharp. Even a pencil would’ve worked.
The teacher noticed. “Will you respect the future dead? Haven’t I taught you any manners?”
I scrunched my bag and then my brows. “What? I live in the present, not in the future. Haven’t you learned anything from meditation class?”
“Focus,” the teacher gasped. “Don’t use a small tool to kill a big man.”
He pointed at my father’s giant shadow.
“A big tool is a perfect farewell for such giants.”
He sounded like he was admiring my father’s size while still suggesting ways to kill him.
My father stormed over to the teacher.
“Why can’t you teach your students basic comprehension? This idiot still doesn’t get what I’ve been suggesting for the last ten minutes.” He pointed at me.
“I completely understand your frustration, sir.” The teacher patted my father’s hand.
“My students ignore me all the time. I ask them to puke on each other; they puke on the benches instead.”
Unbelievable!
Even after my father’s live demonstration, the teacher still tried to comfort him. No wonder his wife called him an idiot. And not just because he never realized why my father left his house every night.
Then I saw my mother approaching. My father saw her too. He started sweating.
“Just ask the damn question! Quiz him now!” he cried, seeing the impending disaster.
I clenched my fists. This had to end.
“Sir, I need to ask two simple questions. My father calls it a quiz. I am the quiz master — but the questions are his.”
The teacher nodded. “Go ahead.”
“Question 1 — How to get rid of someone’s wife after she realizes you’re good enough?”
“Question 2 — How to get rid of your own wife even when she knows you aren’t good enough?”
The teacher paused. After exactly six and a half minutes, he passed me a note.
“Use my family tradition — the sledgehammer,” the note read.
Outrageous! Unbelievable!
They expect me to kill my father, my wife, and the teacher’s wife — all with one cheap wooden sledgehammer?
What am I — a family discount killer?
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