|In the back of the line of march had been a contingent in black leather. I’d been curious and asked who they were.|
“We’re the Eulenspiegel Society,” one told me. They took their name from a medieval prankster hanged for his mischief and immortalized in the Richard Strauss tone poem.
Well, he went on, they were a self-help group of sadists and masochists.
And which exactly were they? I asked.
Oh, he told me cheerfully, they were the masochists.
I had to ask. Why were they marching?
He delivered his answer deadpan.
“For better treatment.”
Hat Tip to The Volokh Conspiracy