If the president of France can’t have some naughty fun, what hope is there for humanity?
I’ve been accused of having an affair and it’s making headlines. Personally I can’t see a problem. Not saying I did it or anything, but when the president of France can’t have some naughty fun now and again, what hope is there for humanity?
My sister once had a French pen pal called Bruno Watine. In his letters he said was from Lille in the north of France, he had a mum and dad and a sister called Marjorie and two cats. He also said he liked to play football, go to the swimming pool and listen to music. What Bruno neglected to mention (possibly because he was still mastering English), but what became quickly apparent when he came to England for an exchange visit was that he had powerful-smelling B.O., an immense monobrow, and carried all his things in a Power Rangers rucksack. My sister decided she didn’t want to lose her virginity (whatever that is) to a Frenchman after all.
Hope that helps!