"Well, you tell him where to shove his pickled mushrooms. You do far better studying the hiccup, i.e., to undertake research on the drunken hiccup, in its mathematical aspects...
'Dear God Almighty!' I hear on all sides. 'Surely there's more to life than that, there must be something...'
' But there isn't!' I shout. 'That's just my point. There really isn't. There's nothing else.'
I'm not a fool. I'm well aware there are such things as psychiatry and extra-galactic astronomy and the like. But I mean, really, that's not for us. All that stuff was foisted on us by Peter the Great and Dmitri Kibalchich, and our calling lies in an entirely different direction. Yes, and I'll lead you in that direction if you're not going to be awkward. Of course, you'll say: 'This calling of yours is vile and false.' But I'll tell you, I'll repeat what I've already said: 'There are no false callings, every profession deserves respect.'
So, the hell with you! You can leave all that extra-galactic astronomy to the Yanks, and the psychiatry to the Germans. Let all those Spanish bastards go watch their corridas, let those African shits build their Aswam dam, go ahead, the wind'll blow it down anyway, let Italy choke on its idiotic bel canto, what the hell!
And meanwhile, I repeat, we'll turn to the hiccup."
Moscow - Petushki, Venedikt Yerofeyev