how many instances of "h" are there in:
they sat in the car with the windows up staring at the real estate agency. “ok, son. this is it. go in there and do a deal,” said power dad.
“ok,” said his son. power dad watched his son undo his seat belt and get out of the car. forty-three steps and he was inside the real estate agent’s office and power dad high-fived himself after putting his binoculars down.  “i’m here to buy a house,” said the son.
“boy, how old are you?” said the real estate agent.
“three and a half,” said the son.
“shit, you speak well, but too young to buy.  the son walked back to the car, defeat written all over his face like a hastily written phone number on the wall of a public toilet. “so, what did you buy?” said power dad.
“nothing,” said the son.
 did you feel scared?  oh no! do you think you might be a girl?” said power dad.
“no. he said i was too young,” said the son.
“ageist fucks. feminism has taken all our rights away,” said power dad.
“i want to go home,” said the son.
“well you can’t!! they won’t let you buy one!!” said power dad.
later that night at the weekly patriarch assembly meeting, power dad was unable to focus due to the washing machine like sensation that the day’s events were causing his mind to feel. his anger turned to sadness and then back to anger and if he’d been a chick he would have suspected menopause. the fatherly leader, noticed the conflicted look on power dad’s face while lecturing on the benefits of wrestling one’s sons.  now, i’m getting some negative vibes from power dad. would you like to share?” said the fatherly leader.
“sent my boy in to buy property today. he walked away empty handed,” said power dad.
“you been wrestling daily?” said the fatherly leader.
“no,” said power dad and the patriarch assembly gasped in unison.
“well, you’re fucked,” said a voice from the back corner of the assembly hall.
“now, now. this man is here for our help.  it’s your fault that that boy is not with property right now,” said the fatherly leader. power dad spent the rest of the meeting buried in the guilt of his shortcomings as a father. he vowed right there and then to rectify the problem as soon as he got home.
 “wake up!” he said and dragged his sleeping son by the arms out from under the covers like death tearing a soul from a body. “stand up!” he said.

“oh my god!! it’s started!!” said power dad and picked up the boy and body slammed him into the carpet. the boy squealed in pain at having a fully grown man smash him into the hard floor, but he retaliated by punching his father in the region of his genitals. power dad let out a cry of such estrogenic force that a religious man could have been forgiven for thinking he was possessed by demons. “oh no! only gamma males fight dirty!” he said in between the bursts of testicular pain that was now radiating up and down his body like the shock he got that time he had decided to piss on an electric fence. “wrestle me, god damn it!” he said.
“i’m tired and you’re being too rough,” said the son.
“play wrestling will make you gay,” said power dad.
“what’s gay?” said the son.  “what the hell is going on here,” said his wife.
“don’t you mean ours?” said power dad, but she had already walked off. he released the boy from the headlock he had had him in and followed her down the hall way. “what do you mean your kid?” he said.
“i’d like you to leave,” she said.
“fuck you!” said power dad and he ran back to the boy’s room and barricaded the door with a set of drawers. “this is it, son. i knew this day would come. the degenerates have found me,” said power dad.
“i’m tired,” said the boy.
“you say stuff i don’t understand,” said the boy.
“that’s my fault,” said power dad.
he cried when the police handcuffed him. “he doesn’t know how to tie knots or pick up chicks!! he hasn’t even had his first cold shower!!” said power dad.

“power dad, please cooperate or we will pepper spray you,” said one of the police officers.
“how gamma of you!” said power dad. the police officer guided him into the back of the police car.  the colours merged together on his boy and became purple. he immediately jumped to the lunatic conclusion that this was some sort of omen predicting his son’s imminent homosexuality at the age of one thousand, two hundred and ninety days. he winced in disgust but knew he only had himself to blame.  “i know what i’ll do,” he said to no one. “i’ll do a course and if one isn’t available i’ll make it and sell it and i’ll be rich and she’ll think i’m cool and my boy will have land because i’ll be able to buy it for him,” he said. his words were the chunks of turd of an overflowing toilet with there drip plop rhythm. like all overflowing toilets though, there was the fear that an overwhelming storm of shit was not far off, but the police officer driving the car was having none of that. 

user
The total number of "h"s in that passage is two hundred and thirty-nine.
assistant