>stroll into my local leftist bookstore
>looking to pick up a copy of Theory de la Sujet
>grab the book and take it to the charming maiden at the register
>"Pardon me, milady...but could you ring me up? A shame I don't have your number or I'd ring you up instead..."
>she giggles and takes the book, blushing as her fingers brush mine due to my fingerless work gloves, which I wear because I am of the revolutionary class
>her eyes widen as she reads the book's title
>"Wow, I've never seen anyone buy this before! You must have special taste!"
>I smile and ready a witty response when suddenly a voice rings out from behind
>"Hahaha look at what this structuralist dinosaur is buying! That's not potato book! LARP somewhere else, tankie"
>I quickly turn around, my cloak billowing behind me, to discern the source of the rude outburst
>generic potato fascist caricature with a Dolce&Gabbana cap and "the guy that stole your girl by playing hot potato lascivisciously" turtleneck is standing there guffawing
>"Excuse me sir...you may disparage my person if you wish, but it is untoward to swear in front of a lady."
>"Fuck you, class-reductionist!"
>I smile quietly and tip my fedora low across my eyes, concealing them
>"As you wish..."
>I quickly swing my labour-calloused, proletarian fist into his kneecap before he can react
>he bellows idealinguistically and charges forward, impetuous and unawares as to how that also benefits capital
>I expertly sidestep him and the cashier screams as he crashes into the counter
>I draw my Marxist razor and mutter a quiet prayer to Zermelo-Frankel as I drive it deep into his back
>"...requiescat in pace..."
>As I clean my mathematical blade the girl walks out from behind the counter, twirling her hair with her fingers
>"So...maybe you'd like to come over to my place to read that book sometime...?
>"No thanks, milady, you can attend the reading group. Besides..."
>I sheath my blade
>"You're not my type."
>skate away on my Heelys
>looking to pick up a copy of Theory de la Sujet
>grab the book and take it to the charming maiden at the register
>"Pardon me, milady...but could you ring me up? A shame I don't have your number or I'd ring you up instead..."
>she giggles and takes the book, blushing as her fingers brush mine due to my fingerless work gloves, which I wear because I am of the revolutionary class
>her eyes widen as she reads the book's title
>"Wow, I've never seen anyone buy this before! You must have special taste!"
>I smile and ready a witty response when suddenly a voice rings out from behind
>"Hahaha look at what this structuralist dinosaur is buying! That's not potato book! LARP somewhere else, tankie"
>I quickly turn around, my cloak billowing behind me, to discern the source of the rude outburst
>generic potato fascist caricature with a Dolce&Gabbana cap and "the guy that stole your girl by playing hot potato lascivisciously" turtleneck is standing there guffawing
>"Excuse me sir...you may disparage my person if you wish, but it is untoward to swear in front of a lady."
>"Fuck you, class-reductionist!"
>I smile quietly and tip my fedora low across my eyes, concealing them
>"As you wish..."
>I quickly swing my labour-calloused, proletarian fist into his kneecap before he can react
>he bellows idealinguistically and charges forward, impetuous and unawares as to how that also benefits capital
>I expertly sidestep him and the cashier screams as he crashes into the counter
>I draw my Marxist razor and mutter a quiet prayer to Zermelo-Frankel as I drive it deep into his back
>"...requiescat in pace..."
>As I clean my mathematical blade the girl walks out from behind the counter, twirling her hair with her fingers
>"So...maybe you'd like to come over to my place to read that book sometime...?
>"No thanks, milady, you can attend the reading group. Besides..."
>I sheath my blade
>"You're not my type."
>skate away on my Heelys