On the worst of days, while enmeshed in the more crushing aspects of toil and drudgery, I like to attempt to incite class war. It lies somewhere between a joke, catharsis, and the smallest hope that my compatriots will join me and we can free ourselves from the evils of capitalism by savagely and gleefully unleashing hell. Recently, however, I was asked how a gentleman such as myself should behave during a good riot. Allow me to offer a few brief examples:

1. "Pardon me, sir. I'm terribly sorry, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to light your place of business on fire. If you'd be so kind as to step outside?"

2. "Madam, my quarrel is not with you, but with the class system which divides us, which, here, is represented by the glass of your window. Would you be so kind as to move aside while I heave this rather large rock?"