By spending most of his life sitting on his big fat arse.
He's a simple man with very simple pleasures. He sits on his big fat arse while FISHING. Not the strenuous kind of sport fishing.
In essence, he throws a string into the water, and then gets a tug job.
That's not too different from when he unzips his fly at the Pleasuredome, shows his little string, and tugs on it while sucking on something that sort of resembles an eel.
He saves these major events for major holidays. He looks forward to to sitting on a boat on a holiday in summer, and to sitting on a toilet in a gay bar on the night before Christmas, sucking a cock. It's a little gift for himself.
Mostly he sit at home listening to records nobody would EVER want to hear.
Now and then he waddles to a boot sale, or stares agog at a poster announcing a boot sale he FAILED TO VISIT. Yes, being catatonic has its drawbacks.
Here's some so DULL he takes a photo of an event he DID NOT attend!
There's history for you: he immortalizes the day he didn't get to forage for old useless records nobody wants.
Most of the time the dullard does spend a warm, sunny day with his nose in a cardboard box of dusty old tat that DID NOT chart.
He remembers the thrilling time he was lucky TWICE.
Clifton what? Who? He takes photos of records you don't want to see OR hear.
Yes, he actually photographs bad records he buys, and uploads them even if nobody cares.
Sometimes he sits in his chair and stares at piles of records. Why play records THAT DID NOT CHART when there's such a comforting feeling in just STARING AT THEM. He whispers, "I own these. These are mine. I have a large collection of records THAT DID NOT CHART."
If he hauls out a pile of records, he can go into an autistic stupor that lasts all morning.
A caption for his photograph, can take all evening. After all, it's a whole sentence!
Ah, the little things in life, that most people take for granted, fill him with AWE.
He pulled out his camera to take a photo of this amazing sight: a BOX OF RECORDS!
Nice seeing your snapshots, Rain Man.
Your plumber has a message: stop letting the shit pile up because you're fascinated by wads of brown. You needn't wait an entire week to flush.
Stop saying, that you can't take so much excitement more than once a week. Stop insisting that Sunday night be "special" because you finally get to watch the water and piss and shit all go down with a strange, gurgling noise.
"It's a sound that's NOT on ANY of the records I own that DID NOT CHART!"
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