You and your spouse are the parents of Jesse Pinkman, reputed meth dealer. Over the past several years, Jesse has been in and out of rehab after repeatedly setting your house on fire while cooking meth, nearly blowing up your neighbor's house more than once.
Jesse is due to receive a sizable inheritance, but before you give it to him, you want to make sure he's not cooking any more of that chili pepper meth he's famous for. So you make him a deal: you'll give him access to his inheritance if you can inspect the two places he's cooked meth in the past: the basement of his house and the old beat-to-hell RV that he drives around town. Eyeing the inheritance check and licking his lips, Jesse agrees. You give him the check and he drives off in his RV, cackling as he goes.
A few days later you tell Jesse it's time for a surprise inspection. A red eyed, hazy Jesse agrees, and gestures towards the cellar door. "I have nothing to hide," he says. And sure enough you walk down the cellar stairs and the entire basement is completely empty.
"See," he says," I promised to stop cooking meth and so I did."
"Okay, now we'd like to check out your RV."
"Your RV. We'd like to walk through your RV to make sure you're not cooking meth in there."
Jesse's eyes narrow, "Three weeks."
Now it's you asking, "What?"
"Three weeks," comes the reply, "you can inspect my RV in three weeks."
"That's ridiculous. Three weeks is more than enough time to hide any evidence of--"
"--sorry, i've got a lot of personal stuff in my RV that I need to keep private. Love letters from my girlfriend Jane, research for my chemistry thesis, underwear laying about, that sort of stuff."
"But we need to inspect your RV now to make sure you're staying clean."
"Sorry, no can do. Three weeks."
"Well okay then, see you in three weeks."
Three weeks later Jesse Pinkman rolls up in his dilapidated old RV and you enter. Sure enough, every cabinet, every counter top, every storage bin has been scoured completely spotless.
"See," he sneers, "I told you I stopped cooking meth."
"Well I guess you have."
A giggling Pinkman speeds off in the direction of the nearest home improvement store, mumbling incoherently about hydrofluoric acid and polyethylene.
You turn to your spouse, "boy, this agreement is really working out well."
"Yep, it sure is."
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