Ode to vulgarity

Hi gang! I’m glad to be back, friends. I have just returned from a mini tour of your beautiful country and, Alice, I sympathize with your character. A woman who involves a gang, it’s not easy. But imagine a Belgian who infiltrates a troupe of French comedians…

– just never pronounce the word “eight”.

It was a first for me, making jokes on the roads of France. In the southwest, precisely. An extremely rich experience…

– Gastronomically, already.

French people, I know you are angry with your country right now but

– remember that you still have duck confit.

The advantage when you clog your arteries with fat is that you don’t give a damn about the retirement age.

– You’ll never reach it.

Me, I’m not going to last long on this earth, I chose the fast life: bullshit on the airwaves, smoke in the lungs, cholesterol in the veins. It’s like I always say: even if it means burning life at both ends,

– might as well melt Camembert over the embers.

In short, top tour. I met great people and I measured the power of my humor since on one of the dates, the mayor of the village himself threatened to stop the show if I told one more joke. Well, you shouldn’t invite a committed comedian who defends political convictions…

– no I’m kidding, it’s me we’re talking about: apparently, I’m too vulgar.

At the same time, we can’t say that I didn’t warn: my last column on this antenna is literally called:

– “anal plug or trailer hitch”.

But, obviously, the mayor didn’t know that when he invited an entire class of high school students to this party. So, I approve of the cultural education of young people, eh. But a school trip to a stand-up show to introduce them to performing arts is the equivalent of giving them their first lesson in the anatomy of the human body.

– by showing them porn.

– I wouldn’t start there.

Already explains the basic functions of the reproductive system

– before showing everything you can do with 3 holes and a babysitter.

That said, Mr. Mayor, I have a scoop for you: young people have the internet. Anyway, the class was exfiltrated, the rest of the evening went well but it shook me up because I never try to shock me. I just want to make people laugh and behind my rudeness, there is a quest for honesty… After all, I don’t know if that’s an excuse. If I insult someone, I can’t just say: so, it’s true that I called you a huge bitch… but don’t worry…

– I think so.

But there is lucidity in my vulgarity. I understand that in real life, if you’re thinking fuck, out loud it’s better if you say damn. If you think shit, say shit, if you think dick, say penis. But on stage, in your texts, you have to indulge. If you think fuck, say fuck. If you mean dick, say dick.

– …and it just seems like I… I think a lot about dick anyway.

Still, it made me doubt. The next day, I’m on the train, I’m thinking about what I’m going to play that night and I have no confidence in my jokes. Then I turn around, and who do I see, sitting behind me? Damso.

First instinct: panic.

– I thought the Thalys was going to explode, there was so much charisma in the car.

The rest to listen to and find on video!

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