My parents both barge into my room and tell me to listen to something they like while I'm already listening to something. Normally, I would calmly explain to them what's going on, but Dad decides to touch my shoulder, which I immediately percieve as poking. Now, when I'm even slightly aggravated, I have problems controlling my tone. So I'm telling him to stop poking me in what I view as a perfectly reasonable tone, and he not only tells me to watch my tone, but tells me that he's simply touching my shoulder, while still touching me. I keep telling him to stop, using touching and poking interchangably, and it takes like a fucking minute for him to realize that I DON'T FUCKING ENJOY THAT. When I try to get back to listening to my music, Mom says to Dad that she'd like to yank out the power cord on my computer. It's quiet for about fifteen seconds before I audibly note that Dad's taking his pants off, and I ask him why. He sas that he came in my room to help Mom out in getting me to listen to this song and was taking his pants off because he was on the excercize bike. Dad leaves and Mom tells me that she's disappointed in me before she leaves. Minutes later, Dad comes into my room like nothing happened and tells me that they weren't picking on me. SINCE WHEN WAS IT EVER IN THE REALM OF POSSIBILITY THAT I'D BELIEVE THAT?! I guess dealing with my paranoid little brother who, when put as the target of anything, tries to redirect the blame at someone else, has left them thinking that I'll think just like him. I know they mean well, but it has apparently never crossed their minds that they can leave me alone, or, as I was getting dangerously close to saying, fuck off.