Complément de Affaire — CERFA n° 13473*01 — Una música VISCERAL

Timestamp: Diez (minas) y un Cuarto, en la Rue Saint-Loius en L’Île… en Central Siren Time.

Yes indeed Cousin Joe, Yes INDEED, meet BRONTIS À LA PRÉFECTURE de Paris. •–_!_-* Fun fact
Ewe’all: did you know that The White House has been, —since way before— Henry’s fixes at La Fútbol Asociación? SINCE Way before —EWE’ALL— Kissinger fixed the Chilenean World Cup of September 11 of 1973— now drink that Water and hold Mika’s hand, Cousin Joe— G’ahead, Cousin Joe, hold her pretty Department of State hand.

La Concha de tu Madre—reLoaded!!!

Complémént de Affaire, CERFA n° 13473*01
Line five out of six:

… but first, the news.

The following must be read in a George Cloony voice with a Laughing Cha Cha Cha playing on the background.

Extinct relatives. The last time that these two were seen together, the climate conditions called for a cool overcoat. Right now the season is warm and it is inevitable to avoid seeing undies on the streets, don’t blame us for catching an occasional glimpse—heck, one needs not look ‘sous les jupes de fip’, Mika, if you know what “Eye wanna Hold Your Hand,” means.  •-_!–•  There’s a new kid in town, let’s hope that under this Summer’s Sun that ride doesn’t go the way of the GoBee Bike and the benevolent Sac–a–dos.

Indeed, it was a rather naive “présentation sur « papier libre » du projet de creation du plan d’affaire” on account of the GoBee Bike project.

Maybe, just maybe the timing was wrong for project GoBee Bike to hit the scene at the dawn of the Great VELO War of 2017, when Velib’s changing of the guard was about to take place and three other private bicycle providers were dumpping their “güilas” all over the Île-de–France.

I’ll be blunt, GoBee Bike first mistake was trusting les Francilliens with such thin spokes, I mean it did not take a week to see young-adults punishing the GoBee Bikes everywhere. When the month of March 2018 arrived the streets of Paris were pretty much a junk yard littered with the fleet of GoBee’s that ended up as parts–and–pieces of a pretty neat service… but the other players in this business of transportation choices, they just couldn’t let GoBee Bike be.

In my non–consequential opinion the foul was not “kids just being kids”, there is a lot of money to be made in the alternative public tranportation business, and GoBee Bike didn’t think that it’s delicate rims would be sabotaged by the competition.

There’s a new kid in town, y se llama Patín del Diablo, from the creators of Green Hell and The Last Caress.

TimeStamp: 13h20

Dear, Brontis à La Préfecture… the following must be read in an AMAL CLOONEY’s voice:

Service Continu…

Dear, 6éme Bureau á Cité; please be adviced that my client has already furnished your office on two occassions with the current demand from your email on line five of six, on the Complément de Dossier request, date stamped on May the 24 of 2018.

Amal Cloony, Barrister–at–Large.

Agnes, won’t Ewe make the Axolotl’s suits and hook’em up with a few “paper dolls”… of course Ewe would. Thank’s.

p.s.: please do not force our firm to stash our client at the Equatorian Embassy should your office deny him of his “titre de sejour” renewal.

Bah—Oui, Truman Burbank: “Everything is recorded”

Complémént de Affaire, CERFA n° 13473*01
Line five out of six

But first: The News:

Slovenian mannequin… TimeStamp: 11h30 In CET. }–—–~~~\*>   Some say that it was because of the first lady, others that it was because of the first daughter, cynics and semiologists seem to agree that it was in fact, “bad television”  the kind of stuff that the mayority of people don’t want to be reminded of, you know; stuff like trains rounding and carring off the jews (mostly) into the guarded  compunds where men, women and children would be separated forever. Donald Trump is a reality television producer, and he—and—he alone arrived to the conclussion that even Dr. Goebbles would understand that the audio tapes of crying toddlers asking for their parents, and euphamisms for concentration camps with nomenclatures such as,  “tender age shelters”  was just really–really–really bad television because it turned off a lot of the people that thought that they could not get enough of  Donald Trump and the greatest reality tv show on the face of a dying planet. In any case scenario, we [the] staff, would like to point our that we dig’ her stance on her husband’s cruel and unusual policies, and would like to take this opportunity to also add a Slovenia’n National dress on one of John DeAndrea’s nude mannequins, just in case he (Donald Trump) forgot that his wife got into The United States —and stayed— by any means necessary… including fornicating with a man like him.

TimeStamp: 180 minutes to Summer Solstice in Central Europe Time.

We are now officially in Summer Time countdown, this year, the longest day of the year was shortened by two-hours—truly Trino*, the terrorist have won. Last year and the year before, the Fiesta de la Música in Paris went until 2 a.m., for the 2018 edition la juerga corre hasta la media noche… Now, Ewe don’t have to go home, but Ewe can’t stay over yonder near the corner where i sleep, eh…

Coming up: Fake News vS. Media P.I., starring Laurène Loctin and Aude Favre. 

TimeStamp: 9 minutes for France opportunity for a SHOT at winning for the first time on Russian soil; it’s not Winter, so the odds, Napoléon, are looking swell.

18h43 in Central Europe Time

19h04… Huh, who would have thunk it, FIP went on Strike and cancelled the Fiesta de La Musica. It seems that “La comadre Lety” y el resto de los Technicians no estan de acuerdo con el contrato colectivo y cerraron el changarro… por otro lado, solo a unos periodistas se les puede ocurrir programar un debate sobre “fake news” cuando la música y el Sol suena y calienta afuera de La Canopée à Châtelet. En fin.

… al salir de la Canopée y El Fake News Colloque era el minuto 84’

Croacia 2 – Argentina… LA CONCHA DE TU MADRE!!!

Minuto 90’

Croacia 3 – Diego Llora.

3 minutos de compensación

Croacia 3 — Argentina 0

BROZOvic entra a la cancha y argentina se regresa a Buenos Aires en un Vuelo De AEROMÉXICO.

TimeStamp: 21h52 in Central Europe Time!!!

Oh, The Humanity!!!

In other topics, it’s handicapable month at La Canopée, tonight’s Fake News —information— session was geared toward the hearing impaired, Media p.i. is what one might call a information clearinghouse for the deaf.

It turns out, from what we [the] staff could gather from our kindergarden level French, that aside from the professional peddlers of sucker media juice for the brain dead, it is that the motherfucking subtitles on BFM TV —por decir— that are all out of wack; no wonder my French is all, let’s just say —twisted. I tried to learn the language of love and diplomacy through the BeFeMer’s closed captioning system and all i got as feedback from the locals was a kick in the ass and a persona non—grata card. THANK’s BFM!!! Youg Fucks!

TimeStamp: Dust in the wind at Dauphine Square, at « Paire & Fils » with a Fender Strat and Trumpet sounding at sunset… followed by: Marie’s her name. 22h35.

22h50 My favorite Square in Paris… Carolina graces this place and the mood is all BARBARA: Black Eagle / L’Aigle Noir. En voz, de Joël Dalle, quien arremetió con « Pour un flirt… comme toi »… de un tal Michel… 75006 Rue Mazarine / Rue de Seine.

23 HUNDRED HOURS!!!  HAWAII 5-0 at the other end of Rue Mazarine entronque con Rue Gueneguad… music by a an all Brass Band with Tri-tom… they follow with THE CURE mash-up!!! A mash-up Ewe’All!

Le Lion est mort ce soir, versión POW WOW, con 4 tubas y un chingo de fierros… No LLORES POR MI argentina—follows.

23h25 Place d’Acadie… CHAVOS RUCOS!!!

The What? — The Who… puto!!! Don’t be FOOLED AGAIN!… 23:30. THE EXODUS IS HERE!

The What? — The Who… puto!!! Don’t be FOOLED AGAIN! }—–—~~~\*>  for follow-up visit: EelPieBand on their fucking facebook page… Ewe get a freebie, Zuckerberg.

23h45… Can Ewe see The REAL ME, Brontis?


… fuck the curfew: 00:39 Rue l’arbre sec … « do the walk of life »…

Note from Fenster the COPY–Editor:
This entry was corrected for dangling participles.

Las Fuentes de doña Vilma:

Like an X-Ray… ISSY, Corazón—Eye Hear Madrid ah–Knocking; what i don’t Know is if la 6éme bureau à Cité et moi, See “i 2 i”, can Ewe smell what this Rock is cooking?

Wait for it, wait…

“Well Did EWE Evah? — Complémént de Affaire, CERFA n° 13473*01

Good Afternoon Marianne.
It’s 4:20 in CET… Shall we continue with this Dance
might as well —i mean— You know, to welcome Ringo Starr and “La Fiesta de La Musica” en toda LA FRANCE… Night and Day, BabyDay and Night.

Dear Marianne: With all due respect, i have already explained several times — sur papier libre — what your people at the 6émé bureau call a “projet de création de plan d’affaire,” and although, Baby, some of the key players* les “héroes de feuilleton” have changed teams in this most non-consequential saga; “The Song,” Marianne — “Remains the Same.” Cordialmente, armando segovia.

Si la foto es buena…

Context on line five follows… it’s the 11th Hour and we send a Shout Out to TRMS and — La larme vue dans le monde entier!

I know, Marianne, — i know what’s going to go through the minds of the reviewers of my most inconsequential CERFA formulaire at le 6éme bureau when they see one of Barbara’s line on a Parisian trash can with a perfectly good and, might we add; sealed « matin léger » six pack… now,  if we [the staff] knew anything about subtilité, we’d tell you that it’s because a « matin léger »  is « facile à digérer »…

What do You say we take a pause from the dance and instead play « hardball », eh?

Issy, BARBARA, whereever You might be, “Si la foto es buena”, sure the theme of the lyrics changed, but the abominable Cruel and Unusual form of punishment patterns are ALL THERE, down to the « President’s Wife », eh? — ScreenGrab is courtesy of The Chris Matthes Show and his access to the archives of the National Broadcasting Company… ISSY, Marianne, the good thing about this most non—consequential blog is that the French don’t have a National Broadcasting COMPANY, eh!

TimeStamp: 01h00 in CET

… and no Marianne, we [the staff] have not, we repeat—to quote Chris Matthews— have not done a single “backflip” since we’ve landed on the CDG, no Ma’am. Instead, Marianne, what we’ve had to do since day 8th, when the Year of Mexico in France was put in the garbage can is a bunch of motherfucking forward somersaults.

And, as a matter of fact, one of these piruetas pa’lante was a response to Brontis à la préfecture rejection for the renewal of the second part of the permit that we [the staff] identified as a “blank card” to basically swim like fish in water when it came down to gathering the elements of a story about corruption and privilege.

We call these maromas, tangentes interesantes, or Cross Media Tangents.

The Little Red Girl… ISSY, Marianne, soon after Brontis à la préecture confiscated our « titre de sejour » and with it our both of our feet—along with our shoe leather reporting credentials— Donald Trump came into the Mexican scene, and to quote the « Ministry », “THERE WAS ONLY ONE THING THAT I COULD DO” and that was, to “ding–a–ding–long” my SEIS GRADOS de Kevin Bacon, i had to develop a way to keep my honing my craft while keeping the ingredients within the tropes and topics of the “melting pot” that gave Country, and my early “horn of plenty” childhood formation that infused my soul; REMEMBER MARIANNE, Que Yo Soy Un Producto de la S.E.P.—eh!

… in Central Europe Time it’s six hours to summer solstice, right now Robert Zimmerman is strumming the Tombstone Blues, or some “great commander–in–Chief” saying “death to all who shed a tear,” or something like that—hell, Raquelito, Dylan even ended the song with how “Ewe gotta put a Wall—over here,” can you believe how the times seem to not be changing!

TimeStamp 06h29 in CET.

TimeStamp: Flipsville… in Siren Central Time

The Longest Day Follows.

Complément de Affaire — CERFA n° 13473*01

Good morning Marianne:

Let’s dance,
shall we?

El proceso… context follows. Stick Around!

Shall we start, 3 hours after 4h20 “with the very thought of You”?

… and, Sweetie, wadda’Ya say if we [the staff] start at the beginning, which of course, fucken of course, on Your itinerary is « the last –item– in Line ». Now Baby, You, of all the free—swinging bosoms in the Free World know that “I’m a man of Means by no Means”… and that this situation was brought upon by your man: Brontis à La Préfecture; allow me to recapitulate… because Mari:

”What we’ve got here is failure to communicate”, and understand beteween the two of us what a “Catch–22” starring Jim Carrey looks like.

Así que ahorita que “calienta el sol” aquí en lo que próximamente seran las playas de París, could You believe that the very trade that brought me here is keeping me from filling up a CERFA form?

Yes, indeed—yes indeed. Of course for You to triangulate the paraghraph above with concrete references concerning my case, You—precious darling— of all Icons would have to go back to MY INITIAL REQUEST FOR a French VISA, —because it was from San Bernardino (my birthplace) Baby, from where I opened up that last Stretch of Route 66 to arrive to Your Consulate General satellite in Los Angeles, California in order to request that God-forsaken visa that would allow me —an aspiring journalist— a crack at taking a look at Mexican Corruption from abroad… “oh how i laughed” (internally, and to quote Ziggy, at that moment) when a Consulate Employee asked me: what business does a Californian have, wanting to take a look at Mexican corruption? In her defense, it was in the context of my request, which was a Skill and Talents visa, a sort of LONG TERM immigration MECHANISM that France offers to “developing” countries or something like that., and here you have a U.S. passport holder asking for that sort of “special” and privileged visa.

Long story short, on that initial request i mention a hypothesis that it’s probably similar to the thesis of the current (three times running) and leading Mexican presidential candidate, Andres Manuel López Obrador, regarding his thesis (According to The New Yorker Magazine*) “about the political formation of the Mexican state, in the nineteenth century.”

TimeStamp: on this Dance… “you think that jamming was a thing of the past” Bob Marley— in fip Central Station Time… y lo bueno es de que Francia no tiene un National Public Radio, eh… diez para las 21h20.

… Anygüey, Mari, along those archaic and supposedly “ quiet villages” of the nineteenth century “i put forth the proposition” in so many words that up to 2010 (an emblematic year for Mexicans) the French Civil Code and it’s constitution was a mirror image of how “el godínazgo INSTITUCIONALIZADO” ran things in modern Mexico, but with the particularity of having Washington’s (D.C) interest rammed up the country’s ass and all the way up the so-called “horn of plenty shaped country” neck’s in the YUCATAN PENINSULA… remember, Marianne, what Mafalda found out about THE MAP OF THE WORLD ACTUALLY BEING UP-SIDE DOWN**.

A QUE VOY, regarding the voucher for CREDIT from a BANK OR CREDIT INSTITUTION… or something like that (HAAAAA JAAAA HAAAA)… en voz baja—¡no me hagas reir Marianne!

If your préfecture reviewers at LE 6ème BUREAU à CITÉ wanted me to be able to properly complete A GOD-DAMNED CERFA Form for small entrepreneurs (freelance Journalist) then they should have instructed me back in March of 2011 about « LA PUTA CEDULA PROFESIONAL NECESARIA”, para ejercer como periodista en Francia—INSTEAD OF HAVING ME RUN AROUND THE PARISIAN MEXICAN MUCK— with a “talents et compétences Card”… MARIANNE, “my fickle friend”, You gave me a « carte blanche » to operate and when it turned out that i figured out that the roosting chickens came from Your motherfucking coop—YOU PULLED THE MOTHERFUCKING RUG FROM UNDER ME.

Glosario para Stephanie y Brontis à La Préfecture:

a dilemma or difficult circumstance from which there is no escape because of mutually conflicting or dependent conditions. [Sounds familiar, Ewe’all?].

Jim Carrey:
Actor, painter
… in the role of Truman Burbank, he happens to be the star of the most popular live show in television history. The only problem is, he doesn’t know it!

Vals N° Ocho con Marianne… conduce Pérez Prado

Hola hoy es miércoles 23 de mayo del 2018.
Saludos a mis amigos los colombianos.

Aquél que ignora la historia… don Mauricio, gracias por sacar a flote el tema de los consulados de México, mi amigo “Brontis à la préfecture”,  sabe perfectamente cómo y de que manera (no) sirve ese viejo sistema de palancas. Draconiano contra la crítica del gobierno en turno, y LAMBISCÓN cuando se trata de las elites que siguen saqueando a México… ahí tiene a Moreira en Barcelona en Catalunya, o a Duarte en El Paso, Texas… luego, “si nos dejan” le comentamos sobre lo que usted no quiso decir de “el Bronco”, eh.

Hello, Marianne,

… as for the requirement of having a roof over my head, the most important thing to take into consideration is the context of the topic, and the historical perspective of how I came to navigate a situation that today has me bouncing around the margins of your social fabric.

It was almost 4.9 years ago when your people behind the Desk at a place called La Préfecture de Police, devised a ruse to discourage me from documenting one of the many stratagems that the Enrique Peña Nieto administration deployed in 2013 in order to have a pleasant Year of Mexico in France, during the span of the following 2 years.

Four years and eight month ago, dear, Marianne, your agents took away my credentials to practice journalism, but they could not take my will to continue with my testimony and my passion to document the things that curators of Frida Kahlo try to cover up wiith her works.

… screen–grab might follow.

Last year, however, with the aid of the Latin American rumor mill and, with the finest cadre of coopted “cultural ambassadors” who,—i might add— are in the pockets of the Mexican Foreign Service, managed to momentarily turn my world up-side down, which, compared to what happens to gadflies like me, —on Mexican soil— i guess you could say that having to sleep on the different hostels of your RATP and eating out of your most popular soul kitchens is like, is Like really–really–really: living mi vida loca como si fuera la vie en rose. 

One Step at A Time

So, in lieu of a fixed roof over my head, as required by today’s convocation, i deliver to my good friend, “Brontis à la préfecture,” a ‘beneficiary form’ along with a side dish of ‘social follow-through testimony’ that promises to set my Hands Free; now Brontis, pay attention because you are a central intelligence character inside the pages of my work-in-progress narrative… should you decide to renew my little “pink card”, then you will give feathers to my wings, en revanche, if your superiors response is a “pink slip,” you will instead be webbing them. 

Les promos font La Révolution

Monoprix Revolution of lipsticks, instead of a révolution of ideas, seems to follow.

P.S.: Dear, Marianne, if Brontis can issue “little pink cards” to Mexican federa agents who maimed and tortured for past Mexican presidents, and who now seem to be “double-dipping” as madrinas for the Mexican Embassy in Paris, then you should not have an issue with a “stone inside of one of the shoe” of the Mexican political status quo, —Baby!

TimeStamp: “Mama told me not to come”

Issy, el archivo sigue siendo cotejado por puras sirenas, en CET.

… on Siren Central Time.

I have a feeling that the decision at hand, like 4.8 years ago last time around, has already been made, whatever the outcome is dear, Brontis—this is just a Formality..

TimeNow: 5 to HighNoon. CET.

“Since i’ve been Loving You” … dear, Tatiana Clouthier

TimeStamp: Cinco antes de las Siete, p.m. en Morena–Francia Time, hola John, hola Sergio — Hola James, acabando la merienda, les meto el contexto, eh…


Las Fuentes de doña Vilma… doña Tati, me entretuve mucho repasando su manual de cómo contra restar las críticas a Morena… o algo así. Ahorita nomás que den las 23h en Tijuana, le comparto la tangente de los insurgentes en el aparato cultural mexicano en Paris, Francia c. 2011–2016, eh. Por cierto y con todo el respeto que usted me merece, ¡qué chula está! Neta que sí.

Berenice, ¡amiga! —mi Kelley Deal de la grilla mexicana, no sé si tu estampa siga en Francia, o en Morena de cualquier manera, pero ¿qué crees?:

… en Tijuana todavía es viernes, y como nosotros en el staff no sabemos por donde empezar, pues gracias al gran hijo de la chingada, Brozo y a su orquesta de chilaquiles vivos (o sea de chilangos) voy a comenzar la tangente de doña Tatiana por Insurgentes, parada del Metro por dónde la Procuraduría General de la República, o sea, el Mexican C.S.I. se va a mudar a una nueva torre para almacenar a los 43 de Iguala y a otras cientos de docenas de millares de personas extorsionadas, secuestradas, sexualmente torturadas, mutiladas, desaparecidas, acribilladas y/o asesinadas, enterradas, pozoleadas, y pues ya nada más falta que algún emprendedor o emprendedora encuentre la manera de hacer de todas esas víctimas un by-product de “las evidencias” para exprimirle más ganancias a la tragedia nacional, haber si un día menos pensado a algún taquero no se le ocurre vender tacos exóticos de chango cuernavaquense parlante sin cola.

Anygüey, de entrada pariente ese saltillo de La PGR (saludos, Juanito Guanavacoa) a el nuevo edificio en Insurgentes le va a dar en la torre al erario mexicano al Tono de 12 Millones de Pesos, mexicanos… al mes, pinche Francisco, para pagar la renta de la nueva guarida de la PGR. ¡Viva México! Y que chinguen a su madre los desplazados que siguen en La Bendita Calle siendo víctimas del temblor de Aniversario de 1985 ocurrido el pasado mes de septiembre del 2017; porque primero es lo primero—primero es la Función y luego los que como François Hollande (ex homologo en Francia de Enrique Peña Nieto) no tienen dientes (sans dents) ni mucho menos, amiga Berenice, tienen para tragar—PRIMERO LA FUNCIÓN PÚBLICA, ¡chihuahua!, y luego los agremiados, y si sobra algo Carolay si sobra algo Karola… y si sobra feria BARTOLA, que sea para comprar con la LEY CHAYOTE a mi propia “Katie Tur,”… o ya de perdis a la Zabludovski de Buzzfeed en espagnol, oh Yeah!

Hoy es martes 13, y mañana — Raquelito…

… demain, Cher, Rachel:
it’s Pie Day.
Aussi, les images n’ont pas besoin de mots
pour parler… ni mucho menos
los números!!!

In the mean time, and while we continue to draft a self-commissioned review of last Friday’s “LycanthroPie” in Real Time¹, and then reload the Salma Hayek filesreload the Frida Kahlo files; guest starring, Mr. John Leguizamo, we [the staff] bid farewell to a very close acquaintance of ours.

El nopal en la frente “is optional”… Context, Dr. Netas, follows.

Entonces, pues, with the month of March being International Females month* the following must be read with the enchanting voice of any of the FIP SIRENS and their “under any circumstances” programming.

*  FYI:
in a place called France,
women don’t like it when men… those fucking pigs!
Address them as woman…
so much for John Lennon, that fucking, prick.
Dijo, Cynthia.


Requiem for a little Green Bag…
adieu à mon sac à dos.

No te esperaba — pero como me hacías falta.

Los buenos elementos de La Sopa en Saint Estauche nos presentaron… como tú, diría un marino estadounidense en una película de Kubrick, habían muchas, “but this one (motherfuckers) is MINE”.

Anygüey, la otra bolsita, a little Red Bag by–the–way, como tú, también se descosió aunque bajo diferentes circunstancias, y para colmo: ¡en el último —puto— jalón de escalada!

A ti, little green bag, no solamente te tocó la inclemencia del invierno parisino del 2018, sino que también tuviste que aguantar los jaloneos del pakistaní alcoholizado que quería arrebatarte de mi, de las pandillas de antillanos que simplemente querian cagar el palo, o aquellos desmadrosos de la banlieue que bajan a Châtelet como si fueran una incursión de Vikingos, o Hells Angels en Carbonville… that’s a Wild One reference —y’all… ¿yo qué culpa tengo de que una de las morras de esos pinches desmadrosos le echara un ojo a mis huesos?

En fin, querida mochila verde llegaste a mis hombros en las pascuas decembrinas y ayer en estas pascuas que van a recibir a la Primavera tú ya no aguantaste más…

Happy Rabbit day!

Aunque tú por lo menos, y eso es mucho que decir Little Green Bag, no te arrugaste como aquél cuero viejo, que una vez quise para tambor de guerra. Por lo menos tú, bolsa de canvas con relleno de mezclilla aguantaste hasta que los relevos ya hubieran librado el abismo y el underground para que los suministros llegarán a tu seguro servidor.

Merci, porque como dicen Las Sirenas en FIP:

… https ://www .youtube .com /watch?v=FmqaT1pMtL0

“I don’t believe in Heaven, but i believe in Hell, and i’ll see BOTH of you there.”

All the sources you need to know are available at 35:27 of:

She get’s too hungry for dinner at eight.”

C’est comme ça… ni pedo, de cualquier manera, Brozo, chingas a tu madre.