Tuesday, July 27, 2004

Soap, anyone?

Soap, anyone?

We have soap. Lots and lots of soap. Normal people return from France with all the booze, smokes and duty frees. We have soap.

Look, France is a marvellous country, and could be fantastic were it not for all those French people croding up the place.

I know it's a fantastic cliche, but - French People - try washing every know and then. You will be amazed at the difference, and you will not, in turn, be disgusted at the sight of Scary bowking while tucking into his lunch after experiencing an unexpected waft of French body odour.

And while your at it, get a sense of personal body space. I really, really enjoy being squashed up against your plump, sweaty body as part of a concept we English call "queueing". Couple this with m first point about soap, our trip to see The Fallen Madonna with ze Big Boobies by Van Klump was not a happy experience.

By way of revenge, we stole every bar of soap we could lay our hands on. It's not as if they were going to be used at all. The heavily armed customs guy was not impressed.

Pleased to see they've still got those hole-in-the-ground toilets. My aim is improving, but a word to the wise - don't try to use them when you've got a dicky gut, and you're squirting Brown Windsor Soup everywhere. Especially if you're down to your last pair of pants.

Photographic evidence of Mickey Mouse's arse will be supplied in due course. Hang in there.

The Scaryduck Archive. And soap.

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