There was one poem in our Isn't Ethnic Stuff Wonderful book that was half in Gujerati, half in English, and one week the teacher asked us to choose a line from it that we felt summed it up. He went round the class asking and finally got to Phil (yes, Psyche, he of the rape fantasies), who had picked one of the Gujerati lines.
"Hmmm. Interesting. And why did you pick that one?"
"Because it doesn't make any sense."

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