Epic night

General disclaimer: any similarity with real people or events in this post is only an act of God (qui de sa main grasse et porcine, nous a pris sous son aile). Thus I'm contracting out pour toute responsabilité présente et à venir et pour toute plainte de gens qui croiraient que l'importance de leur rôle dans les aventures (fictives, bien sûr) ci-bas relatées aurait été faussement diminuée ou altérée.

Adam is the slowest guy I've ever met, he doesn't talk (merely mumbles) and his basement is totally creepy. Fortunately our mission down there was, surprisingly, achieved very easily once we found out how to turn the light on. So, after months of despaired mourning for what was thought to be an definitive loss, we finally rescued the precious sacred icon forgotten in this dark and remote place while Chat was in a moment of pure drunkness wandering.

Once back in security in our fortress, Liz and I celebrated with splendor our decisive victory over the dark forces by eating the last part of Chat's tenuous connection with the Close West, a monstruous and violent piece of chocolate cake probably poisoned so as to be used as a Trojan horse to spread l'écoeurantite au sucre in Québec's stomaches. It indeed gave me a terrible mal de ventre, but I refused to surrender and ate it all till the end, courageously supported by my glass of milk.

Then, it was time to become des courtisanes classy for the late evening ball. I overly abused of Chat's sparkling make-up as usual and in return she threatened me with a sharp blue eye-liner totally not recommended for people with heavy vision disability (such as me). This is why I wear my sunglasses at night, so I can so I can...

As always, le chatdoudou was big and very communicative and lacking love.
Copacabana serves great Indian food for cheap.
I am only afraid now my eyebrows have started to inflate, but I'll go see the twins to fix that.