When I was a child, there was a television show called
Zoom. When my daughter was born, it happened to be in production revival.
The later series included the PB&J Game. It is as simple as it sounds.
The game requires two people in a location suitable for making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, such as a kitchen. We can presume the necessary supplies and equipment are available.
One person will tell the other, step by step, act by act, how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The other person does what they are told, and only what they are told. If they cannot do what they are told, they are to do nothing.
Technically,
every instructor fails; it's human nature. More directly, it is nigh on impossible to give proper instructions the first time.
For grown-ups, computer programmers probably recognize the problem.
It's a fascinating game. Spouses beware: Doghouse not included, but you
will build one, yourselves. (I know; and here you were just trying to make a damn sandwich.)
Oh, also, there's this idea in discourse called the principle of charity, which is a philosopher's term and definition of how to not be absolutely counterproductive. That is, knowing what people mean, and not needing them to play the PB&J Game.
It's why we didn't investigate Dan Quayle over father-son bondage. It's why of all the rough talk we might throw at Dubya, the line about working to hurt Americans would not be sufficient to warrant treason charges. And it's why most people can figure out to shake well before using.
Can't do a damn thing about the instructions on a box of toothpicks, or the pictorial instructions in a box of condoms, though.
To the other, what was that movie ... oh, right,
Moving Violations↱ ... with Willard and Sperber doing a double entendre bit where she thought she was talking to a doctor and the mechanic thought she was talking about a car, so she ended up trying to treat trouble in her "rear end" with a bottle of Wesson oil and long sprint alongside the freeway. That, at least, was comedy, and classic. In fact, that joke might be the only reason to see the film.