re-reading the part that makes me laugh the hardest in one of my oldest favorites:
"For a moment, I considered running behind these tourists, but just then an improbable satire on a tourist, a wan little figure in Bermuda shorts panting under the weight of a monstrous apparatus with lenses that certainly must have been a CinemaScope camera, called out a greeting to me. Upon closer inspection, I noted that it was, of all people, Patrolman Mancuso. I, of course, ignored the Machiavel's faint mongoloid grim by pretending to tighten my earring. Apparently he had been released from his imprisonment in the rest room.
'How you doing?' he persisted illiterately.
'Where is my book?' I demanded terrifyingly.
'I'm still reading it. It's very good,' he answered in terror.
'Profit by its lesson,' I cautioned. 'When you have completed it, I shall ask you to submit to me a written critique and analysis of its message to humanity!'
With that order still ringing magnificently in the air, I strode proudly off down the street. Then, realizing that I had forgotten the wago, I returned grandly to retrieve it. (That wago is a terrible liability. I feel as if I am stuck with a retarded child who deserves constant attention. I feel like a hen sitting on one particularly large tin egg.)"
--A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole (p. 271-272)