blowing wind not porridge in this context

we should take it to the streets again, said sponge, and not let fart jokes come our way. it is the day of labour after all a serious matter.
yep, said breadroll matter-of-factishly, the working class are the very group of people generally identified in marxist theory as the proletariat. you are right there, said sponge, i agree, but although they are in a struggle for power with the bourgeoisie, the members of the working class must, nonetheless, sell their labour to the bourgeoisie to produce the material needs for their society.
that make things difficult, said breadroll, you simply can’t have a revolution in a day.

porridge fairy

bowl of porrige, steaming hot, impersonating acrobatic headstand volcanoes waited to be eaten.
eggs and crispy bacon were quietly smouldering in the pan. 3 disgruntled breakfast faires argued for the last drop in the whiskey bottle.
ladies, sponge said, would you mind keeping it down. breadroll, block of wood and i don’t have to get up for another 4 minutes.

© the Book of Sponge and Others.