Originally Posted by
Seekingasylum
My dear Numfuktwat, you are a shop floor oik, a grimy little prole, a grease monkey toiling on the rock face of dull manual labour. In my youth I too worked among your class and was glad of the experience which gave me a valuable insight into the mind of the typical lower end denizen whose self awareness was as limited as their ability to express it. Crude sexual bravura masking their obvious homoerotic fantasies and inadequacy, baiting each other according to established pecking orders, poor language skills for which they compensated by adding oafish grunts and sniggering snorts to their lexicon of ignorance, all marked out the pitiful miserableness of their lumpen existence but with each meal break it became apparent that these creatures were trapped in a futility they scarcely understood - conversation, such as it was, inevitably slowed and petered out as they sat there masticating in silence each lost in the arid wasteland of what passed for their consciousness pondering the waypoints of their narrow, dull lives: the overtime work opportunities, the awfulness of having to mount their ugly, cellulite riddled partners after another night of beer sodden excess, the bonding with their feral offspring over football rituals, their addiction to pornography fuelling their masturbatory mania, but in the end it was always the same, that vacant look would spread over their oafish faces as their brains, one-by-one, shut down and they quite literally became inert until nature roused them from their reverie and rolling onto one cheek they'd fart.
Cattle, really, just like you Numfuktwat.