So my wife runs out to the pharmacy to pick up a prescription and I'm left watching 6 kids (3 of my own and 3 kids staying the night with us). I download Mr. Brewster's commentary to the iPod and listen to it in the kitchen as I wash the dishes. My wife comes home, and things go like this:
Wife: What are you listening to?
Me: Lawrie Brewster's Erotic Video Feedback.
Wife: You're listening to reviews of erotic videos with a houseful of kids?
Me: No, they're not reviews of erotic movies.
Wife: The reviews are erotic?
Me: No, the reviews are not erotic either.
Wife: So what's erotic? The guy talking?
Me: I guess.
Wife: What makes him erotic?
Me: I don't know. Maybe he's masturbating while he's giving the reviews.
Wife: How can you tell?
Me: I guess it's like the thing in the briefcase in Pulp Fiction. It's left to the imagination.
Wife: You realize that's kind of sick?
Me: It is, isn't it?
Wife: You know I'm not leaving you alone with the kids anymore?
And that's how Lawrie Brester got me out of babysitting ever again.