Machismo

One spring I grew Habanero peppers. Leafing through a gardening seed catalogue, the description intrigued me. I thought perhaps your Dad would enjoy this new hot pepper. The bush was lush, about two feet tall by two feet wide when it finally began to blossom. Dozens of beautiful white flowers covered the healthy green color of the innocent appearing Habanero. The pepper itself is orange, and a little oddly shaped.
It's also deadly.

Your Dad about had a heart attack after eating one. The heat didn't hit at first, but had a bit of slow burn for the first five seconds. Just enough for the unsuspecting taster to swallow the first bite, and then pop the rest of the pepper into his mouth.
When I saw the glazed look in your Dad's eyes, and the smoke begin to pour out of his ears, I encouraged him to sit down while I ran to get milk and cheese. This didn't stop him from eating the habaneros again, but they were shown a little more respect from then on.

That was several years ago... and now the sweet habanero has been bred into this monster of machismo.
Can anyone say "off the Scoville Chart"?
Who needs an assault rifle when one can grow these little nuclear bombs in one's back yard?