I was shopping at Ikea the other day. That's what the unemployed do. They seek refuge in the Swedish meatball special at a neutral location. Get it? Neutral. Sweden? Godless, horny, Lutheran Sweden.
Never mind. As I weaved in and out of the aisles jumping in and out of beds, rearranging furniture and wacking off in the bathroom displays, I had a brisk urge to knock stuff out of people's carriages and ram them from behind with my own carriage. Good times, good times.
Alas, it was not to be. Gwenna, my wife, discouraged the idea. Calling it utterly disturbing and infantile. She's so conservative. She changed, man. It was about being anti-establishment once. Now, she's nothing but a puppet of the regime of good ethics and etiquette.
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