Could you possibly sharpen a telephone pole into a giant toothpick and semi truck it through your twat?

Once in Vancouver I was working late in my office on Main Street, and I heard two drunks arguing. Not unusual for 3am Sunday morning, but, bored & needing a break, I went to the window to watch. In the sodium light before the store selling motorized wheelchairs and colostomy bags two stocky swarthy men argued. They stood close, as close as lovers or as friends when they are drunk. They looked alike, the way life-long friends look alike, or like lovers, or brothers. Their arguing escalated, and then abruptly the one shoved the other. He stumbled backwards, slipped and fell into the plate glass window of the medical supply store. He slid flat to the sidewalk and lay still and his blood ran away from him down the wet sidewalk and onto the road. I called 911 and went downstairs. The paramedics came and worked on the unconscious man. The other man knelt beside him and wept, "My brother, my brother." Three policemen held him back so the paramedics could work. When they had pressure bandages in place they loaded him in the ambulance truck and drove away. The other was taken away in a police car. He curled up, foetal in the back seat, uncuffed. The blood had run all across the street and down the hill, black in the peach-coloured light, and a firetruck came in a few minutes to hose it away.

Now piss off.

Got Prozac? It is so depressing but I give it a 7.