Semi-Skimmed Milk

Anyone who drinks semi-skimmed milk should be castrated. Basically, people who consume this stuff are taking an indecisive "middle of the road" position. They are the Liberal Democrats of the nutritional world, lacking the moral courage to ultimately decide whether to go down the health and fitness route, as epitomized by proper, God-fearing skimmed milk, or the way of full-fat, artery-clogging perdition. They therefore don't deserve to have a choice at all.

In my opinion, cartons of semi-skimmed milk should be stored in specially segregated areas of the supermarket, available only on request. And when the pinko filth do put in such a request, they should be hauled to one side by a large member of staff.

"So, we want some semi-skimmed milk, do we, then?" he'd ask, mockingly. "Well, you look like a queer to me. I suppose you want a coloured straw to go with it, too? Or are you the type that pours it over Sugar Puffs?"

At this point, the semi-skimmed milk purchaser would utter some feeble, ineffectual protest. He might even bleat about his rights. They normally do. So the staff member would taunt him all the more, while at the same time summoning up a crowd to watch:

"Tell you what," he'd say, chin jutting forward, "you take your best shot. Go on - land one on me. Prove to me that you're a man, then I might give you a carton of semi-skimmed milk. Or are you too fucking gutless?"

People who drink semi-skimmed milk are gutless, as I've said, so he'd back off, probably muttering something about his being a pacifist and opposed to all forms of violence. Whatever, he wouldn't get his milk, so he'd retire from the supermarket, publicly humiliated.

Over a period of time, and with repeated humiliations, the would-be semi-skimmed milk purchaser would eventually have to ask himself: "Am I a man, or just a nothing? Can I justify my existence upon this earth as a lowly worm?" This crossroads would be decisive. If he concluded that his life was indeed worthless, then he'd start buying full-fat milk in order to speed its end. On the other hand, he might decide that he was a real man, after all. However, in order to assert his masculinity, he'd realise that it would be necessary to vanquish his nemesis in the supermarket. To this end, he'd have to embark on a strenuous workout routine at the gym to build up his body. This would entail eschewing fatty foods. He'd therefore have to drink skimmed milk.

Anyhow, come the decisive day, he'd enter the semi-skimmed milk area of the supermarket once more and confront the staff member.

"I want a litre of semi-skimmed milk," he'd say, assertively, in best "Shane" tradition.

"Prove that you've got the guts to drink it," the staff member would reply, a Jack Palance sneer on his face.

At this point, the customer would land a couple of punches. One in the stomach, one on the chin, sending his tormentor flying. "Now give me a litre of semi-skimmed milk," he'd say. And, of course, the staff member, having picked himself up, would comply. Thereupon, the customer would crumple the carton in his hands, sending semi-skimmed milk squirting everywhere. But his point would have been made.

"I don't need this stuff any more," he'd say. "I am a man. I drink skimmed milk."