the feeling you get after you destroy your dad in a debate.
I envy you. I hate when I debate with my father. It usually goes like this:
Dad: Muhammed was such sweatheart. He even said *quotes random Hadith*. Don't you agree?
Me: I guess...(in the most discouraged and bored tone of voice)
Dad: And Allah is such an O.G., he told the disbelievers that *quotes random ayah*. You see, son?
Me: Sure.....
All the time this goes on, I withhold a tempting urge to rip my T-shirt apart and scream fuck the Mo/Allah-duopoly, but it usually ends up with me listening to his crap for another hour or so. Jeez, I'm glad he lives in England so I only have to endure that every second summer, or so.