Zodi’s Blog

French Wisdom

First of all I wanted to thank all of you for the holiday well wishes. They must have done a world of good because we had an amazing time and I barely awkwarded myself at all. Paris is a city that I could live in provided that don’t mind ending up a clinically obese alcoholic/addict, perverted diabetic homeless tramp with a speech impediment and chronic gout. So I’m thinking that, yea, I’ll end up there at some point.

Unfortunately there was no girl with a fucked up face for me to befriend. Fortunately everyone in the whole city seemed to be ridiculously attractive. So attractive that they made me feel almost less attractive (which shouldn’t really be possible, given my way over the top level of attractiveness) by comparison. Even the men were, like, hot. I’ve never been afraid to admit when guys were good looking, I’m comfortable enough with my sexuality for that (if you know a man who says that they don’t know if Brad Pitt is good looking or not because he’s ‘another dude’ then the man you know is gay and afraid to admit it.) but there were men there that I found myself starring at. Not in like an “I want him inside me so bad I could just shudder” kind of way but in a “God Damn that’s a pretty adult male specimen” kind of way. And the women were worse. Women so goddamnmed pretty that you could sit down and write a poem about how much you’d sacrifice just to be graced with a glimmer of their smile. And you don’t even write poetry. And you’re not really the sacrificial type. I mean, you won’t even share your Pellegrino with your wife who is clearly dehydrated and fainty. She should have bought her own sparkly water.


They were all really, really, really, ridiculously good looking.



I’m pleased to report that by using my sick investigative journalism skills, I have indeed found the real story behind Jim Morrison’s untimely demise. Right after I get the official ‘thanks but no thanks’ call from TMZ and the ‘not this time but feel free to submit in the future’ letter from The Enquirer, I’ll be breaking the story right here on this very blog!       

 I don’t have any interesting, awkward stories to share with you; I only have the little nuggets of wisdom I was able to glean from my trip to La Ville-Lumiere.      

– If you go to a club called the Marquis De Sade do not order the happy ending massage. It will be neither happy nor a massage.

– Baguettes are just really expensive hoagies.

– Fresh pastries are really fucking good.

– French military don’t like having their picture taken. Nor do they like being called Frenchy, Toast or Fry. The do like slamming the butts of their riffles into ‘independent journalist’s’ abdomens though. They like that a lot.


But they are so photogenic..?



– If you go to a spectacle (strip club) don’t buy your wife a lap dance and then let them go off together to ‘chat.’ It will end badly for you. And by ‘end badly’ I mean that you won’t see your wife again for weeks(?). Please come home hunny bunny I bought you your own sparkling water! Also I don’t know how to change this colostomy bag…?   

– Contrary to popular belief French whores aren’t especially pungent with perfume. If anything I find their scent to be an understated, pleasant aroma with just a touch of jasmine.

– Even though I only spent a week in the country I now consider myself to be an authority on all things French. And I’ve found that Nicholas Sarcozy is a slimy, rodent-like creature of ill-repute. You heard it here first.

– Surprisingly they don’t use a QWERTY keyboard. Going back to the hunt and peck days of not that long ago really, really, really sucked.           

– The Seine is colder than it looks. And deeper.


Victories Secret is run by LIARS.



– French maids don’t dress, look or act at all like we Americans were led to believe.

– While the French are grateful for America having saved their ass in the second world war, they are, “Not that grateful.” 

– Despite the country’s track record in war the French soldiers that I encountered did not back down. And they don’t mind the sight of blood on their gun butts, hands, elbows knees or boots either.

– The Metro line in Paris was the best and most efficient public transportation system that I’ve ever experienced. You could get anywhere in the city within minutes. And it was a great place to stare in a totally non-gay way at all the ridiculously good looking people.


Buddha kept me calm. Buddha and Xanex. Mostly Xanex.



 – The meditation room and Buddha statue in our garden area totally kept me from going all Chuck Norris on those French Fry Military Walking Vaginas who thought they were so tough because they had guns and were trained in the killing arts and were like 250 pounds of pure, well moisturized muscle and happened to look amazingly handsome in a beret.

September 22, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | , , , , , , | 71 Comments