Je suis un Idiot-Savant

Stretch ici!  Ca va?

Interesting that the newspaper of record should describe Rob Halford of Judas Priest “wearing what can only be described as a giant roll of silver cling film.” Y’know or ehm, what else could we call that? TINFOIL!

Interesting also to hear an interview with an up-and-coming Irish band on Phantom FM. The band, excited about the recording process, waxed lyrically about the “ANABOLIC” chamber where the drums were recorded. They said it was a strange room with no “ECHO.” The puzzled presenter could be heard scratching her head, no doubt trying to reactivate a long-dormant brain.

After enduring a week of criticism from all English-speaking friends and realising stretchparis1due to the downturn in the economy that I will not holiday this year, I have decided to have a French month (un mois de francaise), celebrating all that is good about French moosic and thinking of Paris, oh Paris, I miss you like a motherfucker. Fuck You Rosbif!

I have invented a language called Franche, which is what I usually speak to confused locals when I visit Paris.

Adieu. Pour la premiere fois dans ma existence, j’ecriverais dan la langue de la bourgeois batards francaise. Je suis fatigue parce que ma tete est fou. La Government en ce moment est booolsheeet. Monsieurs Sarkozy et Chirac et tes chiens mennntal avons created un grand monstair dans ma soul. J’ai besoin de rock et roll .

Ou are deese belle groups de francaise? Daft Punk, Etienne de Crecy, Chok Rock, Laurent Garnier, Air, Johnny fooking Halliday, Justice, Nouvelle Vague: Over the next mois, I will be tres hereuse to talk about cette musique formidable. Alors Alors!

As a small Stretch dreaming of becoming Alain Delon and marrying Catherine Deneuve, I never realised how hard that would be in a cultureless hole like the one I live in. Over the past few wealthy years, Irlanda has tried to act all special and bourgeois but deep down we are basically scum. The “dogs of Europe” as those Italians call us. Some might find this insulting, but each to his own place. Typically, the Tiger de celtique has made every second woman in the country dye their hair blonde and marry a gimp with a Range Rover. I always wonder, if you own a Range Rover, can you actually look yourself in the mirror in the matin. We (I include myself here) have nicked other countries’ identities instead of developing some of our own. A mass of contradictions. Nous pensons que we are far more important than we are and it’s time things changed. Here’s how. Ici.

Drinking: More drinking. Ignore the allowed amount of units. It’s impossible for an Irish person to get drunk on the entire weekly amount of units anyway.

Hair: Dye your hair red and freckle in the sun. It’s good for you and you will never get lost abroad.

Money: Burn it. Fuck money and fuck the people who think its important. It’s not. No-one ever became happy because of money. Masturbation brings a healthier glow to a human than payday.

Murder: Stop it. It’s just not our way (not everyone’s anyway). When Irlanda was poor there were fuck-all murders. With money every farmer and their genetically fucked up runts seem to feel entitled to walk around carrying shotguns and dribble with evil. Stop it.

Or Murder: Do it but do it properly. Considering how stretched the cops’ resources are in Irlanda, every murderer seems to get caught. Watch video after video of Columbo and you will not fall for dirty detectives’ mind games.

Fitness: Nobody likes somebody who thinks they’re cleverer than everyone else. Just cause you can walk five miles without collapsing will not save you from going to HELL.

Finally, Drugs: Do not, I repeat, do not snort cocaine while having a panic attack!

Anyway, pour la remainder de la mois, I will be indulging in beaucoup de Franchy things. Join me. Buy a baguette, set up yr own Vichy government, drink some absinthe or Beaujolais and smear Brie in your ears, for it’s time to ignore everything I just ordered and act like a pretentious wanker for a while longer!

Also, be warned. During sing-song battles, the French always have one final trick up their sleevies. See below.

Vive la France!

3 thoughts on “Je suis un Idiot-Savant

  1. I have no idea what you are talking about, although I’m reminded of the phrase “the more things change, the more they stay the same.” I don’t know why? Ca m’est egal!

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