Journey through space to the Planet Fabulous, where the Ruler of the Universe will see you shortly.

Monday, October 15, 2007

French Letter The Une

What's it been? A month? Oh my darling viewers, forgive me for being so remiss, but the opportunity came up to be Britney Spear's defence lawyer and I told her it would be a laugh to try and get that bemopped retard out of the pickle she's in. To which she heard the word 'pickle' and kept asking whether there'd be "a ickle burger for ickle Britney to have, huh?" before tucking her dress in her t-shirt like a napkin and drooling glassy-eyed for fifteen minutes straight. Anyway, thank you for being so kind to all the guest writers. Didn't they do well? I'm presenting them with their complimentary soap and tiara as we speak.

Now, last week. Paris. I really should do a travelogue, yes? Although wouldn't it be a cheap common denominator just to sit back and go 'Oh look at the silly french and their hats and cigarettes!' But I know that you don't exactly come here to brush on your Derrida, so lets poke some fun at the cheese-eating surrender-monkeys instead, shall we? Yes.

Lets start with TV as that's clearly an easy target. But lets bypass the cheap TV shows ('La Roue de la Fortune' for example, has someone's dog wandering around the studio like a pub landlord's pet. And lets not start on the pre-op who's dollying in front of the letters, bless) and instead concentrate on the freaky-deaky adverts. I mean, I'm still scarred by this one that came on at dinner time that had several skeletons gyrating to an electro version of 'Stayin' Alive' in front of a giant cow before the cow lactates on them in fountains of milk. I mean it was everywhere and these skeletons were bobbing backward and forward like it was bathing in the elixir of life. I did a little sick up in my mouth just thinking about it while I write this right now, dear viewer. Although I think I really took against it as I imagined it to be how Jodie Marsh had the sex, coming up for air like she'd been artexed.

Anyway, the one that really set alarm bells going was an advert positioned between two adverts for cheese and one for bread. You know, for a country that prides itself on its cuisine, going by the telly all they stuff down their traps is Baby Belle stuffed in bread that'll take the roof of your mouth off, followed by a salami chaser. Nice. Anyway, this ad had a mother bringing over a huge bowl of cooked dry pasta. "Aww, mom!" the kids cry (I got The Boy to translate) insinuating they do actually have taste buds and would rather eat something other than the first recipe in the 'How To Cook' Cookbook, right after how to boil an egg. So what does she do? Does she whip up some vegetables to turn the carb-fest into something a little more healthy that won't have them buzzing their tits off gone midnight? Does she actually make a sauce for it, rather than leave the pasta mas drying husks that will compact to the roof of their mouths like the dried sludge around Pamela Anderson's overworked mimsy?

No. She goes to the fridge, produces three rolled up bits of ham and places them on top.

Madam, you are a culinary genius! The children seem to think so too, as they see this shambles of a meal and cheer wildly. The woman should be carted off by social services and certainly not applauded. Clearly they are delirious. And probably have scurvy by now. Oh you silly French.

1 comment:

ViVi said...

I have to concur - that Stayin' Alive commercial freaks me the fuck out!

Can't wait to hear about the rest of your visit... and welcome back! :)