Apparently there been a slight disagreement.
You see, from what I can gather, Roger had asked a question involving milks but he'd been given an answer only involving milk.
Roger was now turning over chairs.
Which, despite his tantrum inspired brute strength, was a decent effort, because those were heavy iron chairs, and they were covered in rust, and I am no doctor, but my instincts tell me that rust may increase the risk of tetanus.
By the way, I'm guessing it was easier to talk kids into getting their tetanus injections during the heart of the Tetris craze.
'Hey Sammy, we're going to fit something small into a space that on the surface may seem unlikely to fit, but in the end turns out to be a snug and satisfactory hold, want to come?'
'Oh my god, Tetris, Tetris, Tetris? Yes PLEASEEE MOMMY'.
'It's actually pronounced tetanus Sammy.'
'Stop fucking correcting my pronunciations, I'm friggin' six, I haven't developed full control and command over my tongue and soft-palate yet you dick, it's not polite, now are we going to go play Tetris, sorry TEEETANUS, or am I taking a shit in your hand bag and pretending I thought it was potty again?'
'Oh we're playing tetanus Sammy, in fact, I might even tell the "games master" we're about to go to Malaysia and see if he has any Malaria "Inserts" for you'
'Is that the "correct" way to pronounce "Mario Cart" cause if so let's get in the fucking car you god damn fucking tease'.
Yep, it's pretty clear modern upgrades to gaming technology ruined parenthood.
Now you probably have to trick your kids into copping physical pain for reasons they can't understand with ice-cream or chocolate.
But where is the long term viciously held resentment and vow for revenge for parental figures supposed to be sourced in this brave new world?
It really is a crying shame.
Roger was now kicking a cow.
His little replica kids sized farm boots pounding it's buttock region almost to the point of being bothersome.
Sadly, burned butterscotch, Cherry Mocha, or even Roger's classic favorites Chocolate or Strawberry milk were never going to come out of this cow.
Little Roger's little brain couldn't understand.
He kicked and kicked and kicked, until, a now clearly bothered, cow walked three paces, and Roger air-swung his boot so hard he landed on his butt.
Seventeen years later Roger was asked by his then girlfriend if he'd ever tried butt stuff.
When he burst into tears for reasons he couldn't even fathom it really, really weirded her out.
And she ended up experimenting with butt stuff with a hairbrush instead.