Russia is corrupt.

Late at night last Tuesday I was working on a drafting assignment, spending endless minutes matching parallel lines, knocking back cranberry juice, and causing holes in the paper due to too many erasures. After 40 painstaking minutes, I help up my masterpiece - one 6 by 6 paralellogram with an intrusion.
"There has got to be an easier way," I thought to myself.
"Oh, hey, what's happening?" said my hip dad, walking into the room with a baseball cap on backwards and his cell phone on speaker.
"Dad...I thought we were past this stage in your midlfe crisis," I spoke rudely, flicking his cap off his head.
"Hey, yo that was customized! Yes is that ..an intrusion?" he peered over my shoulder at my beautiful diagram.
"GET OUT. YOU SPEAK DRAFTING?" I squealed.
"It looks awful," he continued, "And your lines are all messed up. And you can see the erasures everywhere."
"Don't hate, appreciate," I told my dad, knocking back another glass of cranberry juice.
"Man," he continued, ignoring me, "When I was your age I totally hated that class. Waste of time. I paid this stupid nerd to do it for me."
"Really?" I asked, surprised at my dad's badass-ness.
"Word," he nodded, "And then we got caught. But I paid off the teacher to keep it on the down low."
"REALLY?" I asked, even more surprised at his bad-ass-ness.
"Uh-huh," he nodded, " And I paid off some other nerd to sit in the class for me. My teacher was half blind and wasn't suspicious of the fact that he had 4 girls in his class named Vladimir and 5 boys in the class named Anastasia. We all looked the same to him. Russia was corrupt, of course. This was following Stalin's death ..."
"Oh, nice," I nod, losing interest.
"Yeah," he continued fondly, "I used to cut that class and fool around with your mother in one of the empty classrooms."
"EW," I felt barf rise up in my throat, "I had always hung on to the possible glimmer of hope that I was a test tube baby. Or that," I looked Daddy the Gangsta up and down from his Nikes to his backwards baseball hat, "You were not my father."
"Oh, I'm your father all right. Just check out your nose. And you were definitely made of lots of love, and lots of - "
"DAD. STOP NOW,"
"Anyway, if I was you, I'd just pay an asian to do that for me," he nodded and my intrusion, "They are really good at that stuff."
"DAD. I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU'RE ENCOURAGING THIS."
"Whattttt? I'll give you the money for it."
"Dad - wait, really?"
"Word UP. 5 rubles in American cash would be like -- here, here's 4 bucks."
"SWEET."
"What are you guys up to?" My mom says, coming into the room.
"Just telling Paula about drafting."
"Oh, with that senile guy? Remember we used to cut it and go to that classroom? Oh man, remember that move you had?" My mom remembers wistfully.
"YEAH!" says my ancient father.
They look at each other like they are reborn. Gag me.
"Right well," I look at my ancient parents and envision them having once loved each other. ew?
"I'm going to .. go pay an Asian."
"That's what I did!" my mother happily announces.
"Me, too," my dad smiles at her.
Ew. My parents are ... getting it on.
And over drafting?