If it wasn't for the Enlightenment, you wouldn't be reading this right now. You'd be standing in a smock throwing turnips at a witch.
Not to be outpipped, here's another one which had Jen snotting herself this afternoon:
It's 1983, we are on the M25 and I'm sharing the back seat of Dad's Ford Sierra with my three sisters and their "my little ponies". Dad is shouting because I've got a McDonald's milkshake, which I am refusing to let my siblings drink, due to the Large Family Food and Drink Code of Conduct: under no circumstances do you share.
Exasperated, Dad demands I give him the shake, which I do. Driving at 60mph he winds down the window, holds the cup and chucks the milkshake out, the intention being for the shake to hit the road rather than his face, which it does in a hilarious custard-pie type way.
I cry with laughter. Ciara wees with laughter. Dad's pride and his car seat cover take weeks to recover.