"Oh say, then yesterday was a civil mess of these in my street. Chez Jean-Pierre you too?
- Yeah, I do not know what happened, from 23h to midnight: a parade of cars, engines roaring, guys who honk and bellowing like calves, I loved it. Especially since in my street, usually it's less animated than in a cemetery .... And so, j 'I missed something?
- Heuu the match, the team of France, World Cup, you were not aware of?
- Oh no, no. I thought they were just idiots. "
And if not, now in its chronic morning on FM Hearsay, Didier Porte has made an almost idyllic picture of the mother Denis (not the other) This harpy television, this slut ready to sleep with the first team coach of France came to be able to afford a blow-dry / manicure at Jean-Louis David (well, that's what I said, I have not checked if they actually do manicures at Jean-Louis David).
short, Didier Porte, one of last guarantor of literary protest and argued grunt but radio, has just committed an aberrant chronic, probably written under the influence of the alcohol timber, and succumbing to the mob song ("Aull, Aulla aulla aullezzzz is vauuu gaugner! ") and lost at the same time his faithful flock.
So the end of the world as we know it.
I wish you good morning.
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