I've told this one before, so tough...
I once had a studenty job doing the evening shift in a Supermarket. Of all the evening shift layabouts, I was the only person who would volunteer to go out and rescue the trolleys from the tramp-infested multi-storey car park next door.

The reason for this was something I kept very close to my chest - from the top floor of the car park you could see across the road to an office block. And there, on a good evening, with a following wind, you could observe one of the suits screwing the office cleaner over his desk.

As an illustration of the bourgeois-worker relationship, it was like the works of Karl Marx re-enacted porno style, with the filthy capitalist dog spunking all over her tits at the climax of this particular chapter of the revolutionary struggle.

Then I had to go back to work to stack washing powder on two quid an hour.
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Thu 11 Oct 2007, 20:41, Reply)