One time, the Blessed Saint Durrutti was in a holding cell at the federal courthouse, waiting to be arraigned on charges of criminal treehuggery. The arraignment was scheduled for the morning, so he’d been brought over from the county jail bright and early. Early enough, in fact, that the county wouldn’t have to shell out a buck fifty to feed him breakfast.
Being a federal affair, of course, nothing happened on time. The morning wore on and became afternoon, with no breakfast and no lunch. Saint Durrutti was a hippie in those days, and suffered from chronic munchies. He took to harassing the US Marshal charged with his care, demanding to be fed.
“We’re not set up to feed you here,” the marshal always replied. “This is just a holding facility.”
This went on for some time, until Saint Durrutti ran out of patience. Finally, he sat down on the floor and declared:
“I’m on hunger strike.”
“What?” This brought the marshal to his feet. He came right up to the bars and said, “What do you mean, a hunger strike?”
“Just what I said,” the saint replied. “I won’t touch another bite of food until you bring me something to eat.”
“But you can’t go on hunger strike to be fed!” the marshal cried.
“Just watch me,” said Saint Durrutti. And he continued to starve himself for another twelve minutes, until the marshal got back from the store with a tuna sandwich, a bag of chips and a coke.