The Ultimate Threat.

This small series begins on a day when my children and I were enjoying a leisurely Saturday morning down at Palm Lake, when my phone rang...

Terrified for their safety, I immediately rushed the poppets to the secret underground bunker I had built some years ago.

I watched helplessly as an even sleeker sleek European roadster than the one I drive came barreling through the massive wrought-iron front gates, up the main drive, and around the Impressive Circular Drive in front of the mansion, and trembled as the door swung open, disgorging its occupant... my dad, JP Senior.

I submitted to a little friendly paternal advice, delivered with love.

As the old boy roared off, I reflected ruefully that no matter how many zombies you slaughter, how many attack-trained birds of prey you fend off, how many supply-side economists you massacre, how many ninjas you eviscerate, and how many times you save the Republic from disaster, one dressing-down from your old man can still make you feel about an inch tall.