Technically, Öüï were Knot lying, for the past four days we [the staff of this blog] have tried to get both a face and ear injury on a judicial medical report for violence against u.s., period—full stop:

Based on a short story by Terry Bisson (1991).
“They made the machines. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Meat made the machines.”
“That’s ridiculous. How can meat make a machine? You’re asking me to believe in sentient meat.”
“I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. These creatures are the only sentient race in the sector and they’re made out of meat.”

and then Eye looked directly at the doctor and said, you know doctor, Eye is no doctor, but Öüï here did spent a season shy of a decade sleeping with one of your medical colleagues at a Holiday Inn, and right now, doc, your Hippocratic Oath (sorry to note) is looking more like a Ministère de Education instrumentalisation tactic.

Il est onze heures, le gris commence

Per your greeter’s instructions .:. B0DF0AAB-D93E-44B4-A319-A04FA6F9F688 .:. The following is a timestamp:
In Hilo, Hawaii, it’s 11 O’Clock.
Might you have the Time for Armenia and for Haut-Karabakh?

Now, Mr. K.L.Mediapart, Eye knows that any frog on the Lilly pond will probably just shrug the above-mentioned claim and move on, except that when she began to explain why the very first good doctor who evaluated us Eye began to syncopate what a hospital work rotation looked like, from the time that she is a medical student, through her hospital rotation periods and on through the time when her colleagues raise that hand to say: yada yada yada. Eye also revealed other knowledge that only a  spouse of a medical doctor would know about the politics that live in a Grey’s Anatomy tome. And that is when she agreed to talk to her section chief and long storEy sHort, the good doctor noted my injuries, with today’s date, but did tell Mí D.A.T. Eye would need to see a judicial “qualified” medical doctor to also note the same injuries because her diagnostic would not be legal in any court and, considering that a big-ticket supermarket here in Paris, France, apparently trains their private security to beat up homeless people inside of their toilettes, then it would probably be incumbent upon us to obtain said medical diagnostic addendum to an already bursting file of Mí at the good Ol’ Préfecture de Police.

Indeed, that’s a real Mexican Avocado

Last night my Right Eye discovered That French cops were Pussies, —at the time when i asked for my property back— but some, are just EXACTLY like them little American cops.

Good morning, it’s 9.20 in the morning and today is Mexican Revolution They.

ODEON M4… next stop, Saint Germain-des-Près .:. A2024EF1-AA99-4C46-B541-461C1E4B8155 … Three Little Words Siren, you got, IT!, Sirene: FUCK YOU COP.

Quick note, if you ever get pepper-sprayed, point-blank and TO your Face, you must remember that the chemical will stay in your eyes for a good portion of the following 24 hours. Lucky for u.s., we visited the Soup Populaire at the 6th District, of 16 (now) and the good people there hooked us up with a little bottle of VITAMINs B6 and D, which we did not drink earlier in the day (yesterday), like yogurt, or milk, anything that makes for a happy movement of SHIT is a good remedy for the pepper-spray that insecure “little” debutant cops throw at you.

Some people call me the space cowboy .:. You know my name, you know where i lay, you even know where i take a steamy shit, and You Motherfuckers know that if i wanted to steal anything from La France, well THEN i would have asked Los Amigos de México in France for the “permission” necessary to obtain a Talents and Skills visa… like the one that Marcelo Ebrard nice got to able to study at Sciences Po in 2015 (during the year of Mexico in the Hillary Clinton Latino outreach in the U.S.A.) check La Matriculacion, or as we bums on skid row very often say: check your surveillance feed.

ISSY Mr. Macron: FUCK THE POLICE, if they punish the paying customer at MONOPrix®️, and you know what the IRONY of it  is, Mme. Hidalgo? That the CEO of Franprix and Monoprix used to be a roofless sonovabitch just like yours truly.  

Page 26: DECOUVERTS, « Trois lieux où mieux consomer » ; À Paris AUTOME 2020.

Now before i continue with this most non-consequential blog, be advised that tonight, your police officers relinquished from me a pair of needle nose pliers that Eye uses to remove the staples from the cardbox boxes that i use as mattresses, Eye is sorry for dispensing your pepper EYE spray on Mí.

OPEN YOUR BAG!!!

These where actually the words from the MAGAZINE manager, before i asked that motherfucker to review the surveillance feed.

I foresee that every move that Eye makes, will be monitored, but please BITCH, tell your cops to strike and get,IT!, over WITT!… bunch of pussies.

You are going to miss Mí when Eye is gone. Mark My pepperspray.

Previously on, The Situation’s Fuck Up—
—El error de Marcelo

Full Disclousure:
we, the staff of this most non-consequential blog wish to come forward with the confession D.A.T. Indeed, Öüï is a closeted Boston fan.

Witt that in mind, Rachel Glasses just happens to stroll into the scene, Avi Velshi is on the scene.

Now y’all probably heard (on the Johnny Canales Show) about el famoso “aguacate” en la voz de mando de Los Bravos del Norte… y, no, no es una d’esas Mick, because contrary to what David Guetta would want y’all motherfuckers to believe is that los aguacates de la Banda, no son iguales a los aguacates de La Sierra, ni mucho menos como los aguacates del género Norteño.

https ://es .wikipedia .org /wiki /Género_musical

—O.K., willWe’ll give some land to the niggers and the chinks, but we don’t want the Irish!

Evry Body!!!

Olson Johnson,
Rockridge (at Burbank Studios) Chamber of Commerce.
Blazing Saddles, Ltd.

_+_+_+_+_+

Maggie Thatcher agrees:

Ain’t nobody, Chaka: