The simple answer is NO, we don’t have to. Work is for the lower orders or numbskulls who do stuff for you, juts because you ask. It clearly says so in the book of Wotan, let me tell you.
It’s my own fault I know, dear reader, but I have just suffered the most hideous sunburn imaginable on my recent holiday in Crete. I also suffer from heatstroke terribly and it is not uncommon to see me waddling around a resort, stripped naked, pink as a pig and howling to Hades as I succumbed to all manner of strange delusions which are often filled with enraged eroticisms. Oh yes, dear reader, many an old Baba, hunched over as she tries to negotiate a dusty, winding road through a village, her black shawl and dress rustling in a breeze. Then, a look of indescribable horror she is forced, by morbid interest, to behold an Adonis, 6ft 6, 400 lbs, lobster red, crazy eyed, as naked as the day he was born and clearly aroused screeching obscenities at the heavens as he shucks through town like some kind of undead. Oh reader, I have spent many nights cooling off in a foreign gaol, as you can imagine. Fnar, fnaaar.
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