Today is a double hangover since yesterday was the eve of St. John. To awaken the spirits, I went to the park to drink Molson Grolsch with a girl called 4rine St John. I just missed the show threshers slaques with my old kicker who played in Zap. bad. I liked seeing them sing Big Torch before the eyes of parents alarmed. Luckily, I was dog to listen to the thunderous singing buffoons Vazimolo directory. A bearded man dressed in Pass Careau was done go pouelle on the stage singing Inspector Gadget, Mini Fairy, the Shroumpfs, Watatatow and my favorite: the child ages fierce Rahan. There was also a lady with a classy hat-umbrella dancing alone, Cadet Roussel we look forward to squeak out about 23:00, the singer dressed in Gatineau, fireworks that went in all directions except vertically. That may be the Groslch or perhaps something more , but for a moment that lasted into cascades of laughter on the lawn, I managed to forget that I missed a load of Dané and the homage to BoomBeau Harmonium. Having jumped on my rusty bicique to the house, I zieuter the sun was red, like the cover of King Creole .
Today hangover I say, we are holiday and me and send Beubé Bonne St-Jean in all winds. I send one more to Annie who took time to greet me on the triple double V via a blog much more relevant than the one you're currently reading. A post a day it takes to be taken seriously. I can try to meet the challenge seems less laborious than it, but I'd never serious so far. Bullshit is a costume that allows me to brainwash you whenever I want without that you can see bubulles out of your ears. All this and more you appreciate the simple things like painting rock or post-Bauhaus style.
Tonight I'm getting a pretty face-to-head with the show of St. John. To exit fried on, nothing better than to the cynical laughter of a sofa and Norman, his ex, his daughter and questionable talent the blonde who plays drums on pots Silhouette Mousse. With that, good St. John at all magan!
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