The life of the wealthy and handsome only son of the Poindexter family is a good life indeed. Especially in the early 1970s era of counterculture and rock n' roll where you can everything that moves like you always have and disguise it under the classiness of protesting the war in Vietnam.

But not anymore. Your mother hired some buff goons to track you down to whatever Nevada desert you were partying in and back to your luxury prison cell of a childhood home in Connecticut.

You're just like your idiot father, she says. But she insists that she can tame you, her only son. You spend too much time in that testosterone loop, she thinks. What you need is the presence of a woman who can kindly show you the right way.

Not herself though. Never herself. Who said it's her job to care for her son? She can pay people to do that. So after threatening your inheritance on the condition of attending Yale (which they accepted after she promised a massive tax deductible donation for an investment in the sailing team), she discovered that it might not have been wise to throw her academically average-at-best son into the deep end to study with the world's finest all at once. Even though you're more than happy to bring home a cheer girl or an heiress for the night every day.

But once again, the family fortune saves the day. Your mother's taming strategy can still be complete. All she needs is to find you a good tutor. A nice, young, smart lady tutor. Not another man like your bastard father to steer you away from her. It will work. She will make you respectable if it's the last thing she does.

Just as soon as she finds one that you won't .