He turned and looked out of the window upon a crisp summers day he gazed upon a passing butterfly, how he longed to be free and fly above the dew on a day such as this, ah to be free he thought, of all trifles and innuendo of modern living, the glass skyscraper, towering above, the tv sitting fat and content on electricity as it attracts the dust, its only partner, in crime? Almost. For to whipe away the dust is to cake your fingers in your own flesh and rinse it off under the tap at displeasure of it, is it not self hate and self distruction, and is there a finer thing to be destroyed by than your own hand? Your will expressed eternally as you clean the televesiual appliance?

He then turned to the lady and said "YES, more bacon please".

Post quality > Quantity.