My god, Scrote, you still eat RED MEAT? You still eat DAIRY PRODUCTS? You still drink RED WINE? You still scoff BACON? and EGGS? At YOUR age! Unbelievable!
In different forms, all the above has been fired at me by well-intentioned jeremiahs. The thing is, chaps and lady chaps, I really don't want to die with my body parts in peak condition. When I die, I want my body parts to be knackered, used up, shagged out, only fit for fertiliser. Withered on the vine, as you might say. What's the point of having it if you don't use it, and, indeed, use it up?
Listen, when it comes to rationalising my weaknesses, I can outdo Jeffrey Archer.
Now, what shall I have for dinner? I fancy a sanglier, I wonder if Obelix has a spare one in his larder?