I really want to meet the chimp-spanking dickhead who designed the "child proof" spout for a squirty bottle of RoundUp. I needed to bring death to some weeds tonight, which meant figuring out the child proof protective measures. The end result was that I had to spend a few minutes in the laundry scrubbing spilled RoundUp off every square inch of exposed skin. I'm glad I wasn't actually looking at the business end when it decided to let loose with a huge stream of chemical warfare.
I swear, these bloody safety measures will be the death of all of us one day.