Saturday, 2 July 2011


There's a French woman here in the hotel and I'm in love with her by the way. We met in the pool last night and actually we didn't meet per se but she was under the water, on the bottom with her legs crossed almost breathing, and I stood on the side of the pool for an awfully long time watching her. She eventually floated to the surface to gulp some air and I mimicked her open mouth like we were kissing. She smiled down deep down into my throat and body and nibbled on my heart and testicles. I returned to my room to call my brother and masturbate.

"Water represents emotionally fluidity," my brother said. "She is in touch with her emotions and she is accepting of them."

"Yes," I said. "But what does that mean really?"

"She will teach you," my brother said. "She will crave the challenge."

"But I am a tsunami of confusion and rage," I said. "I cannot be attractive to a woman who is a frog on a lilly pad on a pond next to the grass and trees under the sun."

"It's a challenge," said my brother. "All women like a challenge. You must be an emotional barbarian. She will attempt to calm and tame you. She will place her hands upon your naked skin and she will hold them there. You will feel her warmth and you will understand. You will be together and I can promise you that."

"I will call her a fucking cunt," I said.

"Ha ha Jesus," my brother replied. "That would be so awesome but I'm just shitting you. She's probably some whack job trying to get some time away from her husband and kids. How do you even know she's French?"

"I don't know really," I admitted. "She had small tits and I don't know. She was skinny and she just looked kind of French."

"Whatever bro," my brother said. "You didn't go all the way to America to meet some French broad anyway."

"What are you saying man? Are you saying I shouldn't call her a fucking cunt or I should call her a fucking cunt?"

"Yeah, why don't you start out by not calling her a fucking cunt. It's hard for me to generalise without really knowing all the details but that's probably a good place to start."

It's a big hotel but I have just now knocked on every door and asked about the French woman. "I'm sorry, I know, but I am in love," I say to the people who answer the door. "Do you know her? Have you seen her? She has small breasts and she may or may not be French."

Oh snap, now somebody's knocking on my door. I'm looking through the peep hole and it is her.

"Vous êtes une fichue merde," she says.

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