11 October 2006

hoist the balls & prep the poop chutes!

once upon a time two young divas decided to take a fun trip to the sewers of paris. they thought it would be an interesting afternoon, learning the history of the the sewer system, and going underground in paris looking at old walls and tunnels and things. because how often do you get to go see old sewers? as they were walking down the stairs, one of them, whom we shall call monymoy, said: "hey you don't think it will smell bad down here, do you?" to which the other, whom we shall call shargaux replied, "i dont know, maybe..." so monymoy said, "naah, they wouldn't let folks come down into a sewer museum if it smelled bad, i mean, its a museum."

so the two young divas, dressed fabulously and smelling schweet, continued down the stairs. when they reached the bottom, they were relieved; they found themselves indeed in an old tunnel, and it smelled perfectly harmless. they came upon displays of manikins dressed like sewer workers:

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the two (insightful and perceptive) divas noted that these manikins looked suspiciously homoschual, if you know what i mean. they decided that the strapping young man penetrating into the dark pipe must be inviting his friend that he met in the alley into his manhole. and all the other jauntily outfitted manikins throughout the tunnel all seemed to be engaged in similar manhole activities.

so shargaux and monymoy continued on, giggling a little bit all the way into the next tunnel, going deeper into the sewery history of paris. when they reached the third passage, both shargaux and monymoy quickly brought their (fabulous and classy) scarves over their (lovely) noses (with excellent bone structure). "oh sweet jesus" exclaimed the divas "what a horrid smell". and so it was that in the third tunnel, their (well-coiffed) hair frizzed a bit at the offensive and distinctly sewery smell. soon they came upon grated walkways overlooking an underground river:

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mysterious machines hung over the river doing only god knows what. as monymoy was inspecting the machinery, suddenly (the stunningly lovely) shargaux exclaimed "oh my god there is poop in the river". monymoy (in his logical brilliance) began to assert "oh no way, they wouldnt let people into a museum if there was actually raw sewage floating around"....until he noticed a familiar shape, floating down the river. "are those condoms?"

as usual, monymoy was right. those were indeed condoms. and shargaux was also correct (as is the wont of classy and intelligent ladies), amid the condom were distinct turd-shaped boats, floating happily down shit river.

the divas, after staring incredulously at the digestive and sexual output of paris, decided to flee into the next tunnel. so they crossed the grated walkway overhanging the poo-ssippi, praying to all available deities that that walkway was very well installed. when they reached the next tunnel, their (marvellously tasteful) scarves still plastered over their noses and mouths, they to their anti-delight saw that the grated walkway continued. this tunnel featured information on the history of the sewers and the process of filtering used. both divas, being studious doctoral students as well as pretty, wished that they could read these panels and displays, but their stomachs were starting to feel a little queasy from the less than friendly smell of flowing parisian ass juice. startlingly, the two divas remarked that of all the other visitors to the lovely sewer museum, they were the only ones covering their noses. "what the fuck is wrong with these people?" exclaimed monymoy. "i have no idea but i think we should hustle our darling buns out of here" replied shargaux. and so they did.

in the next tunnel the offensive smell of chemically-treated anus lightened the slightest bit. "whew" sighed the two divas "thank god". in this tunnel they were able to admire the available information on the filtering process, which involved very large balls being inserted into the poop pipes. there was an abundant amount of displays showing different balls, and strapping sweaty men in uniforms laboriously inserting their large balls into their holes in the pipes. "hmm" uttered the two divas "they certainly decide on a thematic and develop it thoroughly". the big balls were indeed impressive:

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they moved more slowly through this tunnel, admiring the strapping sweaty menses' handling of their big balls. when they came to the next tunnel, their (elegant) scarves covered once again their (still elegant although repeatedly offended) noses. and finally, at the end, they espied a kind of poopish tributary to the great poo-river:

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luckily for you, dear readers, this picture does not depict well the post-filtering sludge treats that inspired our two lovely heroes to wretch, squeal and run like little girls towards the exit. because they are classy ladies, they did not recount to me the details of that sludge. and so they ran to the gift shop at the exit, gleefully playing with the pens that--like the pens sold in truck shops across the great america depict a lady or a man's clothes coming off when you tip them down-- the pens that showed a man dropping his ball into a hole. "my my" pronounced the divas "they do keep so lovingly to their theme".

and so the divas fled, feeling a bit abashed at their lack of foresight. many have since mocked the poor divas, but they, having witnessed the filtering process of city water, do now possess a knowledge that allows them to laugh in reply as others drink their tap water.

4 comments:

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