It seems we have forgotten how to make money.

You open a company called the Arse Tickler's

Faggot Fan Club. You take an advert in the back page of some gay mag,

advertising the latest in arse-intruding dildos, sell it a bit with, er

. . . I dunno, `does what no other dildo can do until now', latest and

greatest in sexual technology. Guaranteed results or money back, all

that bollocks. These dills cost twenty-five each; a snip for all the

pleasure they are going to give the recipients. They send a cheque to

the company name, nothing offensive, er, Bobbie's Bits or something,

for twenty-five. You put these in the bank for two weeks and let them

clear. Now this is the clever bit. Then you send back the cheques for

twenty-five pounds from the real company name, Arse Tickler's Faggot

Fan Club, saying sorry, we couldn't get the supply from America, they

have sold out. Now you see how many of the people cash those cheques;

not a single soul, because who wants his bank manager to know he

tickles arses when he is not paying in cheques!