My dear friends, is
eyes flooded with tears of emotion (and because cigarette smoke it stings a bit) I'm back among you, but if infamous band of sympathetic members of the sideburns (e), whose hairless torsos and wit as much as I missed our evening of debauchery in drink Diabolos kiwi on the terrace of Nowhere Elsewhere ...
I go back a long way. Oh yes, I go back a long way.
In my bathroom, to be honest, when I was brushing my teeth frantically before joining the hairy arms of Morpheus, I was exhausted by any one crazy night to play "Questions pour un champion" in my online BAFFR small Gervais. I suddenly looked up at my reflection, and the neon glow of the dying dirty mirror (Need to clean a few elsewhere), you know what I saw?
I saw a girl, her mouth dripping with a whitish substance, flowing to the hollow of his ... uh no, wait, I lost track ...
I saw a traitor (yes, a traitor!), Who cowardly abandoned his family to go live his dream of selling dumplings in Paris.
(I imagine you already acquiescing to a discreet nod in letting out "yeah, too, that's true, what a bitch ...")
In short, all that to say that you want posting nonsense on the blog is still there (the evidence); and if there is no design for purely technical reasons: my computer will give up the ghost (Dr. Johnson said he did not for much longer), I do can scan anything, much less open photoshop.
So if you want pictures, you can send donations via PayPal.
Or wait.
Or buy my book ("The guy in the middle", ed. Delcourt, only 13.95 from all good booksellers specialized-yeah I'm doing the pub with an album of action, suspense, emotion , sex, music players K7 and women furry, finally, a woman with hair that is already well hey!)
Or wait.
long.
that, I'll find this great evil of Morpheus, so (he gets impatient in my bed taking alluring poses, molded in slibard SpongeBob ... ggrraou)
From love, funk and dumplings on you all ... and that the spirit of Boublicitude with you.
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