&quot;Shem was a sham and a low sham and his lowness creeped out
first via foodstuffs. So low was he that he preferred Gibsen&#x27;s tea-time salmon tinned, as inexpensive as pleasing, to the plumpest roeheavy lax or the friskiest parr or smolt troutlet that ever was gaffed between Leixlip and Island Bridge and many was the time he repeated in his botulism that no junglegrown pineapple ever smacked like the whoppers you shook out of Ananias&#x27; cans, Findlater and Gladstone&#x27;s, Corner House, Englend. None of your inchthick blueblooded Balaclava fried-at-belief-stakes or juicejelly legs of the Grex&#x27;s molten mutton or greasilygristly grunters&#x27; goupons or slice upon slab of luscious goosebosom with lump after load of plumpudding stuffing all aswim in a swamp of bogoakgravy for that greekenhearted yude!&quot;<p>I personally think this passage is one of the funniest things I&#x27;ve ever read. First of all, it rolls off the tongue in the most ridiculous way ever (you have to read it out loud) and second of all he manages to write entirely about food while making you think entirely about naughty things.