She heard steps coming down the hall to her

  • She heard steps coming down the hall to her bedroom. The door creaked open and she saw the boots. Nancy Sinatra's warning rang wildly through her her mind.

  • But it was too late. The shots rang out in the dead of the brilliant silence of deep night, and the blood streaked up into the air and onto the pristine wallpaper like a

  • claw marks of a polar bear. The knife flashed. Tendons and ligatures sliced in pristine lines. Like one of those jets cutting across the sky. Blackened crimson juices flowed evenly

  • Above Paris and its suburbs, raining down dollops of

  • goose turds as a flock of inebriated geese passed overhead on their way back from the Beaujolais Festival. Pierre was first to discover the fantastic flavor when it landed in his

  • onion soup. "The turds of geese drunk on Beaujolais," Pierre inferred (in French) & eagerly sampled the soup. "Mon dieu, c'est délicieux!" he said, realizing he was to become rich

  • culture and gastronomical discomfort. When describing the soup he thought he'd said, "The turds of geese drunk on Beaujolais," in French, but what it really translated to was

  • "Broth made by steeping a drunk's underarm hair in tepid water". The French went completely nuts for it, as it contained very few calories and paired nicely with Gauloises.

  • If fit in so well with all the other French stereotypes. The broth smelled like themselves and even took to quoting Proust or Camus. It had strong feelings for Jean de Florette and

  • Jean-Paul Sartre. The broth smoked thin cigarettes, blew smoke rings while quoting Baudelaire and wore a black beret tilted rakishly on its head. And it tasted très bon! *SLURP*



  1. Woab Aug 25 2017 @ 14:52

    From Nancy Sinatra to Jean-Paul Sartre.

  2. LordVacuity Aug 25 2017 @ 15:45

    These proofs were made for Walken.

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