by Roxane Hudon and Shawn Thompson
1.
RH: Once upon a time, Shawn needed to get laid
ST: “Si peu soit-il que je devienne avec le temps quelque chose d’important
RH: “C’est Comme tu veux,” she said. But I didn’t understand
ST: How could how could how could I, circumsised babies, seriously.
RH: So, I answered: “Quoi the fuck?” But she still didn’t want to show me her ankles.
ST: Oh! Onh! NON! Désolé Monsieur, Je ne suis qu’un passager infâme, malade, terrible, connard, tsé
RH: The only logical next step was to make her French toast and hope for the best. Whatta bitch!
ST: I’m sorry I still miss you after the cabbie cab car ride, FORGIVE MAN
RH: Just a reminder for the reader: this is all about how Shawn needs to get laid.
ST: 1,2,3,4,5,6,7 I’m Worried as shit, whaa the fuck, mate, get off my knee pad.
THE END
2.
ST: Allo! Je suis seule, terriblement seule. Parlez-moi. Dites-moi n’importe quoi.
RH: OK, j’comprends, but whatever man, carpe diem, etcetera and veni, vidi, vici.
ST: Continue, oui. N’arrêtez-pas, jamais. Allez. Déjà, je me sens compris, oui, un peu plus.
RH: I took a walk on the wild side afterwards, but it wasn’t really pleasant, I mean, jungle people are dirty.
ST: La, la, la, Mais, qui parle?
RH: Ouais, mais the coloured girls chantent et j’suis ben distraite.
ST: Oh, mon Amour, plus joli qu’un crabe dans le sable du coucher du soleil levant, Allo? Ou vas-tu, va, petite chose incroyable.
RH: Plants are nice, but they don’t live forever. Money does. Dolla Dolla Billz.
ST: Quoi? De Kossé tabarnak?
RH: S’pa grave, y’a toujours demain, sinon, vas chier.
ST: Nul. Complètement Nul. Pardon?
RH: En conclusion, les Italiens sont d’la marde calisse.
3.
RH: Today, I found myself in a cave of wonders.
ST: And the dreams and desires where have they gone? I just want to get away from this bunch of wankers.
RH: And then Andy Warhol said: “call me Spanker and I’ll make you Spankers.”
ST: Yeah, I got it, hard enough, yeah. But fuck, ain’t go hard on creepers.
RH: Jeepers creepers, where’d you get those peepers? Fuck it.
ST: Suck it, Fuck it, Got it, Right. Douche it up. Fuck’s sake.
RH: Jesus Christ! What the fuck was Bob doing eating the egg sandwiches anyway? Faque, tsé, genre.
ST: I have something to say. Judith Butler, Fuck You! And go get LAID. Thank you.
RH: Fuck you! Don’t send the Dogs! They all have fleas!
ST: Scratch man. Harder, it’s scratching hard. Cook me some peas now please?
RH: No! I’ve given you enough now! I will NOT give you the Persian rugs!
ST: Get up, Fuck me with the bugs, do drugs, live long, mugs, drugs!……!
THE END
