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I don't wanna study tonight, ma, I wanna go down to Pat Phong Street and see the girls shoot bananas from between their legs.
Now son, I told you that's not a healthy activity for a 10-year old and besides, I just finished mending your meditation robe.
Meditation? That shit's for the birds--I wanna go see So-Pah open a coke bottle with her labia.
But you don't even have enough baht for the cover charge; you spent your allowance on that opium you smoked out of my butthole last week.
That's not a problem; I can get in free: the kid I run over dogs with motorcycles with has an uncles who's the bouncer at Pussy Galore I can see it now: bare bottoms sitting on my lap and all it costs is a few cigarettes.
As your parent, I advise against it; it can only lead to the doctor's Q-tip scraping pus samples from your urethra. You should be devoting more time to the metaphysical.
Right. I already memorized the texts and in Nirvana you can't even break wind.
Ah, child that I expelled from my malnourished gut, I demand so little, only that you rub my clitoris with the stub of your footless leg and this is not enough, you must seek out shame for our simple household.
Ah, can it, ma, I'll bring you a vibrating Buddha dildo, just don't wake me tomorrow, and maybe someday I'll give you that grandchild you've always wanted to trade for an elephant ride with the hill tribes up north.