Saturday, 8 December 2012

'We Are Spartans!' 'No, You're F***kin' Rubes.'

Think I've found my perfect job. According to the ancient historian Plutarch (or 'P-Tark' as those celebrity chat magazines insist on calling him) the Spartans would bring a helot (basically a slave) into their Barracks and give him fine wine and steaks so that young Spartans could see what idle pleasure and physical softness did to a wretch. They weren't to harm the Helot, merely cajole and laugh at him.

I could work with that. 

"Gods, I'm pathetic, aren't I? Pass another glass would you? Thanks, Lads. Oh, er... woe is me, I am a lowly dog... or, er, something..."

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