"He seemed cool, calm and collected in the other room, waiting for his coffee (which he was assured was for closers). However, as the dulcet tones of Blake’s hypercapitalist putdowns filled his ears, he felt a warmth in his pants that could only be described as the high-pressure evacuation of bowels that had spent a lifetime damming the riverbed of feces with over-processed meat discs. Indeed, the first shit he had taken in decades finally let loose, and it wasn’t a small handful of struggle nuggets like in the past. No, readers, this was a piping hot surge of the wet brown, an astonishing geyser of human jet fuel that propelled the man through the roof and into the sky, wind whipping at his cheeks, carrying him ever further into the cold recesses of space. As the atmospheric frost stopped his tears dead in their tracks and coagulated over his trembling salmon lips, a final word escaped between them, the last anyone would ever hear: 'Patriarchy.'..."