A: Drainspotting.
Q: Standing next to a huge sewer pipe?
A: Aye, lad. There it goes, right on time!
Q: You check various sewer pipes in the area? Every day? Are you paid for this?
A: No, no, lad. I just feel it's my duty. I get to the pipe, check my watch, hear the rumble, and oh, it does my heart good when the sewage starts coming out! I guess it's nostalgia.
Q: Nostalgia? For what?
A: My wife. She's passed on. Oh, I wish I could see my wife Flo again.
Q: Incontinent, was she?
A: Sapristi! I'll have none of your smart talk! This is serious. It's a proud tradition. You don't see them Muslims doing this, the dirty bastards. They should go down the drains, the lot of 'em.
Q: Here, speaking of drains, I've got a picture of Shauna Cuntwell shaving her twat.
A: You call that a drain? I bet she can't even piss a pint in under 30 seconds, like Flo could! She's got a microphone, has she? Fancies herself a singer? She can fuck herself with that microphone! You want singing? (sings) "The sun is out, the sky is blue, there's not a cloud to spoil the view but it's draining, draining in my heart!"
Q: That makes no sense.
A: Waddya expect from a senile old bastard? I know a drummer named Savage whose hobby is scraping bird droppings off a fence! How about a fat Dutch Douche who uses dozens of fake names just to upload a fucking Levitt & McClure album nobody cares about? How about a fat ugly bitch reading "Pride and Prejudice" to nobody?
Q: Calm down, Seniormole.
A: How about — ooh, look at the load of raw diarrhea floating out of the drain! I've got to write this down. Today, 10:42, I witnessed a "Hoobastank..."
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