Au Cochonnet Marin

“Remember, sex is like a Chinese dinner. It ain’t over ’til you both get your cookie.”
Alec Baldwin

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I must confess that I squander a lot of time trawling the Internet.
Yes, this is a weakness of mine. But to my defense, I must argue that “Idleness is the enemy of the soul”, and to keep my mind active I trawl the vast ocean of the World Wide Web.

Most of the stuff I gleam on the web is not really amusing, but once in a while like an old Forty-Niner of yesteryear, I find a nugget in my gold pan.
And that’s what happened yesterday.

My eyes caught the following paragraph:

“Every September 12, the people of Russia are allowed to take the day off in order to have sex. Sometimes, if a baby is born exactly nine months later, the parents will actually get cash prizes.”

 I don’t know how you feel about Putin and his policies, but you have to admit that this is a hell of an idea.
A day off to have sex! ‘боже мой’ (OMG!) Just like evading taxes, this is pure genius!

To keep his people docile, Vladimir gives them what they want: sex.

Hillary could learn from this. Instead of “fighting for equal pay”, Hillary should have sponsored a (paid) day off to have sex.
“Stronger together”? Lame. “Shagging together” much better.

If the Donald ever decides to turn on his good friend and attack Russia, September 12 would be the time to do it. When everybody in Russia has his pants down.

When you get to know them, Russians are friendly people. Full of ideas…There are many successful Russian entrepreneurs in the US, and they are successful because just like Volodia (diminutive of Vladimir), they think outside the box.

Have sex, and get paid for it! Pure genius!

Alain

 “I blame my mother for my poor sex life. All she told me was ‘The man goes on top and the woman underneath.’ For three years my husband and I slept in bunk beds.”
Joan Rivers

“You think those dogs will not be in heaven! I tell you they will be there long before any of us.” ― Robert Louis Stevenson

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I don’t know what it is, but I seem to have animal magnetism… you know, the invisible natural force exerted by animals on others.

Cats, dogs, horses, mosquitos, women, all seem to be unusually attracted to me.
If it is not magnetism how can I explain the fact that I am constantly pulled to refrigerator’s doors?

It might sound a bit cheeky, but women constantly hit on me on social media or on Skype.
They all want to be my friend or as the kids would say, “hook up”.

Can animal magnetism also work on line? Can my would-be friends sniff my extraordinarily potent pheromones through their digital devices?
Doctor Franz Friedrich Anton Mesmer believed that the force could also have physical effects, including healing.

Could I be a healer? Like Monsieur Jourdain in Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme I was not aware of this.

“By my faith! It has been more than forty years that I have had animal magnetism without my being aware of it, and I am most obliged to you to have taught me that. “

So what can I do with my newly discovered talent? I am a great “petter” my cat can attest to this… and so can some of my former girlfriends wherever they are (probably still in my magnetic field).

So how can I parlay my magnetism into piles of money?
Our new boss man in Washington might be able to use my talent.
I realize that I have bad-mouthed the Donald in the past, but like seasoned politicians I see nothing wrong in begging him for a job.
When need be, I can easily switch sides and talk with both sides of my mouth.

But animal magnetism can also have some drawbacks. I am afraid for instance that at the Thanksgiving dinner a turkey (dead or alive) is going to stick to me.
And magnetism as you know cannot be turned on or turned off at will. The Force is a curse or a blessing that you have to live with.

Anyway, I am stuck with it. So, don’t be surprised if you are naturally attracted to me and want to spoil me a little (gifts or money are OK).

Have a great Thanksgiving!

Alain, your attractive friend

The above quotation is a memorable French caption meaning « they talked about it ».

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In a few days, American families all over the US will gather to celebrate Thanksgiving.
(Soft holiday music in the background).

Family members will come by car, by bus, by plane, from the Great Lakes to Florida, and from Maine to Silicon Valley and meet at Grandma’s house in a show of unity and brotherly love.
When greeting her guests at the door, Grandma will gently remind all “Surtout, n’en parlons pas.” (Above all, let’s not talk about it.)

Before sitting for dinner, visitors will munch on appetizers, have some drinks and engage in friendly banter. Then everybody will gather around the table and start chomping on the goodies.
(Ominous music)

For a few precious 30 minutes, everybody will be on the same wavelength.
Then suddenly, inadvertently or not, somebody will lobe a five-letter fragmentation grenade on the table and all hell will break loose.
Turkey shrapnel will fly all over and hit indiscriminately foes and friends alike.(Khachaturian’s Saber Dance)

When order will be restored, bodies bleeding cranberry sauce will lay on the ground, stunned.
A Great Wall suddenly slammed shut separating families and friends into two hostile groups.

This situation is highly reminiscent of the Dreyfuss affair that divided (an always fractious) France in 1894 and barely ended a decade later.

France, as America today, was divided in two camps: the Dreyfusards (those who believed in Dreyfuss innocence) and the anti-Dreyfusards (who claimed that he was guilty).
An historical drawing by political cartoonist Caran d’Ache (Emmanuel Poiré) very cleverly depicted the predicament.

I am afraid that this Thanksgiving is equally ripe for dissension and chaos.
Families might split and friendship might be fractured over the still simmering results of the 2016 presidential elections.

Winning an election is children’s play compared to the task of governing a country as large and as multi-ethnic as the United States.

I could not help but notice Barack Obama’s prematurely white hair as he is leaving the White House.
Will the magnificent mop of our chosen skipper keep its luster after his First Term in office?

A jolly (and if possible peaceful) Thanksgiving to all.

Alain