We All Serve The Rich Masters

“So, everybody got that? Dr. Egghead...”

“Eckhardt.”

“Right, sorry. Dr. Egghard says we shouldn't be worried about any homoeroticism at all.”

“Indeed. Well, I see by the clock I should be getting back to the sidelines. Can one of you push me?”

“Yah.”

“Wheeeee! Faster, go faster. No, don't take me to the coach, he's boring. Let's go over there. Yeah, that's it. Hello, girls! I assume by your tight tiny outfits that everybody's eating disorders are still in order?”

“Get bent, Doctor.”

“Hee hee! Oh, over there! Yeah, right behind him. Line up my foot with his fuzzy ass. A little faster... Pow!”

“Goddammit!”

“The crowd loves it, you third-rate jester! Ooh, cops. Swing me past them... hey, pigs, having fun serving your rich masters?”

“Go fuck yourself!”

“Man, I love this job! Okay, I guess you can park me at my desk. Got to get back to work. Lots of analyzing to be done. There's a war on, after all. I wonder, are we winning?”

“Uh, the war? Or the game?”

“Either! Both! I don't care, I still get paid. Well, don't just stand there, get back on the field! Tackle somebody! And remember, it's perfectly acceptable to get a boner!”