Sitting in his office stroking the head of a small man chained to a radiator
"Fucking Dave never goes for my ideas. So I said: "Dave let's build a giant staircase into the sky, pay someone to stand at the bottom shouting 'free Rustlers burgers this way' and wham bam, before you know it half the population - the dirty half - would be plummeting to their deaths. We could then mash them up and sell them on to hot dog vendors as reconstituted meat. Cutting benefit claimants, creating revenue. Perfect."
"This isn't a time to be paying people to shout George. The country wouldn't stand for it. And we'd need to buy a machine to crush those bones. People don't want gristle in their sausages. Where would we get the money for that?"
That's it. That's all he said. What the fuck is wrong with him at the moment?"
