Abstract conceptions of class consciousness and you.

By: Peemil.

My brother and I were having a yarn a few days ago, and he told me that he had a ticket in this week's lottery.

"If you hit it big, you ought to give me some of the bounty," I said.

"That's depends. What would you do with it?" he asked.

"I'd do one of two things. I'd either eat so much that I put on two hundred kilos- so fat that I'd have my belly hanging around my knees- then, I'd get a hooker and have her blow me on the toilet while I expel ten pounds of curry from my arse, and, as she fought for dear life trying to hold up my ample stomach and the noxious fumes coming out of my severely tortured bowels, I'd laugh like a demented man. I'd film it too, just for the sake of posterity. Or," I continued, "I'd fly to China, buy a panda, take it to Tiananmen square, pay some poor deluded woman to have it fuck her, and then, when it was done with her, I'd shoot the black and white abhorrence in the back of the head in front of a crowd of stunned on-lookers."

"Well, I suppose it's a good thing that I probably won't win then," my brother replied as his fiancee called the local hospital to tell them that I was having another one of my attacks again.


Above: Like a duck, its head can be held underwater. However, only a duck will come back up and say "quack."