I don't know if there are many
women's magazine enthusiasts in the room,
magazines like
Elle or Femme Actuelle or anything like that,
but you've probably noticed
that there's always a cheesy little quiz in there, something like, "
What kind
of mistress are you?"
or "Are you a slave to your
shyness?"
or even better, "
Have you aligned your
chakras?" Well, I feel like giving you
a cheesy little quiz
tonight. If you pick out five things that
describe your husband in the
song I'm about to
sing, it means you can
start to
worry. They eat barbecue chicken
with their fingers full of dimples. They get really into it,
especially if there are wheels or
a
prominent chest. It's not hard to
spot them. They always drive around in a
Pontiac, tinted windows, a bit of a 'jacket' look, and
a little neon light around the license plate. They hang out
at the bar in their village. They get
incredibly thirsty. They're not
aware that they give off a smell of gas
or tables. They love to travel.
Hunting isn't for the big cat,
car racing is a weakness for those who
walk on three-inch heels,
they soothe their fries in small
hollows with any cake
that has jam in the middle and then
Bing in the syrup of the pole, the
big colonists, they
have the exteriors of big
brutes but they whine like babies
listening to a wrestling match where their
idol gets beaten up, they buy the
photo police, they like blood, they like
ass and they are fervent fans of 3x movies of the
genre, a girl who puess, it's
not because they drink and
drive and throw their cans out
the window that they are two of the
reckless people who have no respect for
the planet, you shouldn't think that
colonists don't go into churches,
I saw one come back from Apple, he had
lost control of his beautiful
beloved Pontiac which had just been modified,
you won't say that it's not pious to have gone to
offer it to the good eyes, the
colonist, no no no No, I feel like this isn't going down well at all, not at all, not at all, not at
all. I have the feeling it
might be a bit too
Quebecois for
you, which almost makes me want to
make a more
French version, adapted by someone you
know well. By the way, they
eat
greasy merguez sausages with their hands covered in
grease during the holidays, they
hang out on the disgusting beaches of the
south, they buy ready-made chickens,
then they down swigs of pastis by the case, they
gather in campsites
that smell of
piss, they cry and think it's unfair
when a reality TV contestant gets kicked out, they
subscribe to Canal+ because on
Saturdays they get the porn film, they play pétanque, they love football, they
drive on the left
on the highway in their crappy Citroëns with
Paris plates, they're not
hard to spot with their bucket hats and tank tops,
they scratch their balls
in front of the TV while their wives do
the dishes, the
idiots, the big idiots,
there's one there who... recognized their husband