• The Guys In The Kitchen

HEATWAVE: Paris prepares for Apocalypse.

As the Seine boils and the Eiffel Tower melts, the French capital awaits ‘La deuxième étape de l'apocalypse’.


According to the Dead Sea Scrolls and what one reads on Buzzfeed, the Apocalypse will be heralded by three things: Blood curdling heat, madness in the masses and swarms of locusts. In Paris, where 90% of the population is already nutty and today’s temps hit an all-time high, they’re just waiting for the insects.


Clement Froide

As the local Government scrambled to maintain a rapidly deteriorating situation and old folks were dropping like flies, the bulk of the populace huddled around their bière froide et les âmes glacées and cursed the curse of gay Paree.


Saddled with huge debt, millions of illegal immigrants and a bizarre fondness for Sacha Distel, the city is undergoing another of its legendary tough times.


Montgolfier Airlines before the accident.

Since the Revolution, Paris has been struck by no less than 2,392 calamities. They include the great Montgolfier aircrash of 1785 that killed 900, the Tour de France riots of 1962 that destroyed the Arch de Triomphe and the 1971 see-through ladies dress and underwear collection from Chanel that resulted in almost 200,000 road accidents.


Ah, merde!

With such a catalogue of disaster behind it, many have long predicted the city’s downfall, likening it to Rhodes, Carthage and Detroit without the gangbangers. For them, it isn’t a case of if the Apocalypse would strike, but when. Looks like sometime next Dimanche could be the day.


Pomme Crumble

Exactly what will happen when the locusts devour all living things, the walls crumble and nobody cares for a croque monsieur remains unknown, but indicators suggest it won’t be pretty.


Pathetic

Taking his pathetic life in his hands, RFN’s roving EU reporter, Claude Madame went onto the streets to bring us the latest Mass Extinction news:


Claude Madame looking very Francais,

“Bonjour, mon amis en Angleterre. This is Claude, your reporter en la move. I ‘ave been dans la rue all day talking to people about the arrival of l’apocalypse and I can tell you that the mood ‘ere is shitty.


I started at Le Pont Neuf, and the crowds throwing Moroccans into the remains of the Seine. They paused from their charitable work to speak to me. Gerard, a drug dealer from Tours told me ‘e was in the city to, “Get his stash”, before le fin came. ‘E told me that in the area where ‘e is staying near Les Halles, people were stockpiling dope, Gitanes and crates of vin de plonk. When I asked him about water, medicines and essential items like food, he laughed and said, “What le fuck for?”


Moving on to the Rue de Rivoli and the Musee du Louvre, I encountered youths erecting barricades of burning tyres to keep locusts away. However, as soon as they put one wall of rubber to the torch, so the fire brigade extinguished another. It reminds me of the game you Brits love so much called Whackaguacamole.


Finally, I stopped at Place de la Concorde and the big totem pole we ‘ave stolen from Cleopatra. It is symbolic of another great nation going in le shitter, eh? There I witnessed a mass pray-in by members of Societe L’apocalypse de Francais. They were lighting candles, uttering rhythmic chants and fornicating dans la rue. It was a truly ‘eroic sight. ‘Owever, I doubt it will be enough to stop the approaching doom, as a private source at l’Hotel du National tells me that four gentlemen by le names of Conquest, War, Famine and Plague have reserved for Saturday night.


Au revoir, my rosbief friends. It is all over ‘ere.”


Le plug

Claude Madame can be seen in cabaret at the Silky Pussy near Trocadero, Mondays to Thursdays. Two drink minimum. No cameras. Subject to Apocalypse.

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