I remember when my granddad used to offer me a twenty-dollar bill. When I went to grab it, he’d yank it out of reach like that succubus from Peanuts and cry “When pigs fly!” Well, screw you old man. I’ve got my own twenty dollars now, and I spent it to toss in the face of you and your flighted-porcine doubting crowd.
It’s called heavier-than-air flight, gramps. It was probably called “witchcraft” when you were coming up, but now we just call it science.
Next time I see my granddad, I’m going to show him my shirt. And take my twenty dollars.