Hmmmm... fruity... with a hint of chicken

"You'd better come round here quick."
It was Roger, on the telephone, sounding worried.
There was shouting in the background but I couldn't make out what it was about.
"What's going on?" I asked.
"There's some kind of protest going on - look, don't ask questions you shitty sodfist just get your sagging carcass round here now."
When I got there, the driveway was full of women carrying placards saying things like: "down with this filth", "no to porn" and "this is just wrong". They were all shouting very aggressively.
I tried to sneak in through the back door, but that didn't stop them from calling me a pervert.
"What am I going to do?" Roger asked after he let me in, "they won't let me leave the house or anything. I was going to shoot some pissplay today and instead I'm under siege. They're taking away my livelihood!"
"You have to reason with them," I said.
"Bollocks," said Roger.
I then explained that what he needed to do was to win them round with reasoned argument, that the portrayal of consenting adults indulging in sexual activity is not in itself inherently abusive, but merely becomes transmogrified as such by the wider social context. It is not pornography that is to blame for society's ills, rather, society is to blame for pornography's ills.
As I went on, I could tell that Roger was becoming more calm and that my assessment of the situation was winning him round.
"So what you're saying," he said finally, "is that if I can come up with a powerful counter-argument, I should be able to make them shut up and go away?"
"Yes," I said, enthusiastically, "yes, that's right."
"I think I've got it!" he said.
He went to the window and opened it wide. When the protestors spotted him, the shouting subsided. They watched him in suspenseful silence.
"MINGERS!" he shouted.