I’d rather Goya robbed me of sleep than some arsehole at Schaubühne

»Goya should rob me of my sleep before some other arsehole does it. I would rather Goya robbed me of my sleep than Adidas, Bofrost, Volkswagen, a neighbor, or some wanker who calls himself my friend, or a slut who keeps telling me she loves me. Shit! If I am to lose sleep for a night, then let it bloody well at least be over a painting by Goya.«
On a sleepless night in Madrid, a family man sets out with his two sons for a night on the town. He has gathered up his life savings, the sum total of many years of hard work. It’s enough to flag a taxi down and ply both sons with beer, spirits, tortillas, Serrano ham and drugs. They engage Peter Sloterdijk to accompany them to break into the Prado and while the rest of the night away in the pleasurable presence of Goya’s paintings. If only the children would stop going on about Euro Disney and Peter Sloterdijk would stop making such outrageous demands!