Lemme tell you a story about know-it-alls: I knew this guy, a biker, you know the type - Big guy. Harley vest, Harley wallet, boots, beard, tattoos - everything but the motorsicle..... Well, he saw himself as God's gift to, well, whatever, and he also felt that God spoke directly to him. That meant that he didn't have to listen to anyone else, and you should consider yourself privileged to associate with His Excellency. What God told him [or so he said] was that women were on a lower evolutionary or spiritual plane than men were, and if you were a girl-child you were lower than the slime that grows on the belly of a dead snake.
We were shooting revolvers at a friend's farm - clay pigeons stuck on a fence, and coming close. Close, but no cigars. Then the wives stopped by to see what or how we were doing. He talked his wife into taking a few shots. This woman had never shot a handgun before, let alone a 3" .357 with full horse loads. She did as expected - plowed up dirt and picked up a nasty flinch. The look on his face... remember, women are on a lower evolutionary plane and could not be expected to do anything remotely right with guns. Guns are a Man thing. So he turns to my wife and talks her into trying his pocket howitzer. Three shots and three busted clays later, she hands him his revolver back, commenting on how she liked the grips. "Wha?!? How?!?, who???, What just happened?
So he wanders over to my youngest daughter,"Shorty", 14 at the time, and 4' 11" tall. She's popping away with a 10-22. Because she is a female child - see the last sentence of the first paragraph - she can't possibly know anything about shooting, and is in serious need of his expert advice. Which he proceeds to freely give her. She puts up with it politely - for about 30 seconds. She then looks at this hulking biker and says, "Scoot, will you please shut the f^<k up?!?" Stunned silence
from Scoot. POP from the 10-22. Nothing happened to the clay.
"Well if you weren't such a smart-mouthed brat and listened to what someone tells you....." She safed the rifle, retrieved the clay, pointed out the .22 hole dead center, and asked if that was good enough for him.
Sometimes you just need a know-it-all to provide comic relief.