The Zezaurian guide to Paris

Fresh from my adventures in Paris, I present to you the Zezaurian Guide to the world's most expensive toilet.

Lingo

All good Zezaurians should try and dabble in the local language whenever possible. I got a grade C for my GCSE French exams and that got me quite far in a conversation with a group of policemen (who all just stood around smoking cigarettes and holding their guns like they were immaculate cocks at a homosexual urinal meeting):

Me: Good evening!

Them: Good morning.

Me: Do you know where horses sell bread to visit the beach toilets?

Them: Er...

Me: Oh, Sorry. My name is Drib Drab and I am 9 years old. My favourite animal is a small pea.

Them: Do you need directions, sir?

Me: I grew up in a hospital and turned left at the bank. My mother is an expensive zoo and you are a toothbrush?

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Incidentally, it took the whole of Saturday for me to find my hotel and my shoes have no soles left. Heck, I have no soul left after that amount of walking around.

Also, if you are in a restaurant and you haven't had enough time to decipher the complicated menu, you may wish to ask for more time by saying "une minute, s'il vous plait". This works for the whole of France and probably any other country for that matter. However, if you're stupid enough to say it in Paris you will be served "one omelette" (for 76 euros).

Hygiene

I went for precisely four poos over course of my weekend trip. Of those visits to the toilet I could only flush the bog once and wash my hands twice because Parisians generally have no flushing mechanism on their shitters or handles for their taps. So every time I sat to eat dinner, shake hands with someone or smoke a cigarette, I was putting poo fingers in or near my mouth or transferring bum matter to other people. Eww.

UPDATE: I've just been told that the 'flushing mechanisms' I had been searching for in such a blind panic were actually located on the floor via a foot pedal.

I'd like to now publicly apologise to all the people that had to go into the toilet after me. That second poo was a really bad one.

Thieves

There are thieves and con artists everywhere in Paris, like some bastard smog. Luckily, I'm no stranger to getting mugged, and when it happened again I was determined to not to lose all my money because I can handle these situations with a skill known as 'bartering'.

Here's the scene: Night and a mugger walks up to me (menacingly) and points a knife at my genitals.

Mugger: Bonsoir, monsieur. How mooch money do you av?

Me: Er...I have 100 euros in two fifty notes.

Mugger: May I please take fifty from you?

Remember: you must learn to whittle these guys down or you will end up paying over the odds.

Me: How's about I give you 30 euros? Do you have any change?

Mugger: Er...Oui. I av a little [he's checks his bum-bag whilst I look after his knife]. What aboot 40 euros?

Me: C'mon! I'm not made of money. 30 euros.

Mugger: Okay. 30. Hand it over.

Me: 20.

Mugger: What?!

Me: 20 Euros. I forgot about the recession.

Mugger: Oh, yeah. Fair point. What aboot 25 euros?

Me: 10?

Mugger: Monsieur! Vous êtes un cauchemar! I av a family with a droog habit to feed!

Me: Look, Monsieur, 10 Euros is my final offer [I'm winking knowingly at my friends at this point].

There is a long pause as he looks over at his mugger colleagues loitering on the other side of the road. They mostly shrug their shoulders at him in mild confusion at my awesome bartering skills.

Mugger: Pour l'amour de Dieu! Okay, okay. 10 euros!

Remember: getting mugged on a budget needn't hamper your holiday enjoyment. Paying 7 fucking euros for an Orangina will.

Fashion


Which idiot thinks that Paris is some kind of "fashion capital" of the world? The cunts couldn't dress a salad.

Food

This is incredible. They hate animals so much that I saw one guy actually laugh at his rare-species-of-dolphin-burger, pointing his fingers at it like it was totally 'owned'.

"Ha ha ha you stoooopid fucking dolphin! Ha ha ha. I ate you all up! Yum yum yum! Je déteste humide mammifères! Bwwwwaa Ha ha ha!"

Speaking of animals, I saw a woman actually walking a terrified cat on a leash through traffic. The unfortunate creature was having about ten billion heart attacks a second with its little legs spread out completely horizontal, its belly writhing on the ground like an amorous crab. But that cat was lucky as most Parisians will wear their pets on their head (pointing and laughing at them).

Work

The number one vocation in Paris is sitting on the ground looking after a little paper cup. Weird.

Women

I have no advice to give; they're a nightmare and the pretty ones live in special bubbles which cancel out your entire existence to them. The only attractive Parisian that gave old Drib Drab the eyeball was this woman in the background.

But check out my friend Janine; she finally got that month-old sanitary towel unstuck from her clunge.

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I was going to bang on about another trillion things, like the metro lines all being a slightly different shade of purple, but I'm all garlicked out. In short, if you're thinking of visiting Paris, go to Berlin instead.

DD.

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