It’s nothing personal; I just find it hard to eat when someone is talking at me about torque, power-to-weight ratios, and things of that nature. I’m interested in cars, but only in the most cursory sense. I barely passed my license exam, and my driving has been compared to that of a quadriplegic with nothing left to live for. I deal with heavy traffic through heavy sedation, and I’m not allowed to operate a vehicle outside of the contiguous United States. When someone tries to have a sophisticated conversation with me about cars, I curl up in a ball and die a little. Other than that, I’m the perfect person to talk about cars with after I’ve finished my sandwich.
It may come as a surprise to many of you, but the French are know for much more than just snails, cheese, and surrendering to anyone who shows up with anything sharper than a baguette. France has been home to many of the greatest artists, musicians, and composers that ever lived. Debussy, Satie, Ravel, Saint-Saëns, and 2be3 are all renowned for their compositional prowess, timeless music, and washboard abs. Except for Debussy — he had more of a keg than a six-pack.
Perhaps I’m missing the point, somewhat, and 2be3 aren’t really in the same league as the other fellows. Naturally, they seem to be lacking some of the nuances of other French composers, but they’re all very French. There’s no denying how incredibly French they are. I’m glad they were able to succeed despite their terrible handicap, but I’m not going to patronize them. Their not-so-subtle attempt to rickroll me is not nearly as charming when Rick Astley’s sultry, sensuous baritone is replaced by three Frenchmen.
I will admit, 2be3 can probably pull a lot more French women than any of those other composers ever could. From what I can tell, a lot of women were entirely turned off by many French composers, and with good reason. Satie didn’t like leaving the room to go to the bathroom, so he would poop in the corner if he really had to pinch one. Saint-Saëns used to leave rather large portions of snail in his beard for snacking on later, and Ravel wrote Bolero.
Say what you will about Toujours La Pour Toi, at least it’s not Bolero.
This video makes me very uncomfortable. All I can think about is what it would feel like to have 150 slobbering dogs all try to jump on me and eat my face off. Well, not really eat my face off, more like lick it off, but you get what I’m saying. That’s scary. It doesn’t matter how big and fluffy a dog is, it still wants to crush you with it’s love. When there’s that many of them you’re gonna get pulverized by their love.
If they were cats at least you’d just have 150 shin-high, slinky, furballs who all feel completely indifferent to you. They might all gang up and try to feast on your bone marrow, but I can’t really blame them — my bone marrow is delicious.
There Can Be Only One Reason To Drive Through The Streets Of Paris Like That