Power of Seduction

Zut Alors don’t you just love the French sometimes, once in a while their haughtiness becomes so endearing,it does merit a rest bite from the hackneyed proceedings of Congress. 

If you want a mild distraction from the gridlock of American politics, look across the pond and get a loada of the latest Gallic gossip.
 
French President François Hollande seems to be in a spot of bother, concerning revelations of an affair outside of an affair (very French). 

Hollande has never been married, but has sired four children with Ségolène Royal a famed socialist who ran for National office against Nicolas Sarkozy.
 
It was his current mistress (probably ex by week’s end) Valérie Trierweiler who while politically aligned supported Ségolène’s rival adding vixen venom into the mix.
 
Valérie Trierweiler known as the Rottweiler in polite society is a columnist at the top French magazine Paris Match. 

This makes a busy schedule being a commenter and first Lady of France, but in recent interviews marginalized the need for marriage (maybe a rethink there).
 
So onto Julie Gayet, an eighteen year younger version of Trierweiler weighing in at a nubile 41years young to Hollander’s 59 years old. 
She has managed to steal the affections France’s top baguette according to Closer magazine.
 
What separates French affairs from let’s say American affairs, is the almost cinematic charm of clandestine activities. 

Reports surface that President Hollande would arrive on his scooter to the apartment of Julie the actress.
This could be a scene out of a Francois Truffaut film, compared with Bill Clinton, who couldn’t be bothered to walk over the Oval room’s carpet for his night of cigars.
 
While Hollande’s approval rating is hovering in between Obama and Congress, the latest French poll among women would you believe indicates a healthy leg up!
 
This must suggest that France wants a diversion from a gloomy economy or that Rottweiler is a calculating cow ripe for comeuppance, or Hollande, not exactly a Renoir painting can be ‘Aimé par les dames’ then there lies the fortitude of hope for the last in line for good looks.
 
Recent developments (uncertain whether related to the scandal) draw upon Gallic character with joyful hilarity.
 
A truck full of horse manure was dumped outside the French National Assembly. No doubt the SWAT team was alerted for fly removal, but just imagine if that were to happen at the steps of Capitol Hill?
 
The power of seduction might get you 'femmes intelligentes chaudes', but also it can get you into a whole pile of shit!

Frank The Pope

Frank the Pope is a star let it be said, after nine months as Catholic in Chief he has charmed even born again Atheists to sing his praises. 

With an almost avoidance of below pelvis issues he has neatly charted a course of everyman humanities.
 
This can only be a good thing considering the straight jacket mentality of retiree Benedict XVI's Ratzinger. 

While the traditionalists cite cherry picking Catholicism and warn of deep schisms they must be at least relieved that the conversation has move away from derriere kissed choirboys and financial inappropriate at the Vatican Bank.
 
Frank the Pope clearly realizes that in order to keep and expand the flock he has to reset a more inclusive and realistic agenda if the Holy See is to remain more than just a tourist site. 

If you don’t go out into the crowd and meet the faithful how can they have any faith in you? 

If you don’t talk about poverty and refer to split level social divide then Bronze Age doctrine means nothing (if it ever did in the first place, whoops couldn't resist).
 
Is this a clever ploy to divert attention away from some of the heinous crimes and misdemeanors of the past? If so it seems to be working. 

However there appears to be a genuine quality about Frank that transcends religion of any brand, a fundamental goodness that radiates and allows for the skeptic to soften somewhat. 

Whether this continues only time will tell, it would be perplexing for such a redux to occur when so much rides on the modernization of the Church of Rome. 

If they don’t want to be the Microsoft of religion then they have to reinvent and rejuvenate.


Hallelujah

Resident Banksy

Speaking from an undisclosed bunker in upstate New York (Beacon to be precise) Cave painter Germs revealed that Banksy’s stencil siege of NYC this month might conclude with an unveiling of identity at the Halloween parade.

“I knew Knob Head would eventually make a land grab and over shadow the upcoming Mayoral election”.

 “This is typical Bansky, distracting us from New Yorkers real concerns; the Yankees and Giants abysmal season and the conclusion of Breaking Bad”.

“I heard that the Delivery truck installation was car jacked by men wearing Bloomberg masks and filled it up with 16 ounce soda bottles. 

This is the kind of juvenile behavior I expect from Miley Cyrus not Jets Fans!”

Continuing on “What worries me with the government shutdown, will there be enough Parks and Recs staff on hand to stamp out his Limey agenda?”

“If you want to know where Banksy is, he’s in Times Square in an Elmo costume scamming tourists “

Clearly Germs is upset, if not envious at Rule Britannia’s most conquering Hoodie.  

Trying to console him with some Rupert Singe videos was my only hope, but alas failed, he could not understand the dialect.

As I made my way to sail down the Hudson back into Gotham, I could hear him shout. 

“I bet he doesn’t go to fucking Staten Island”

Berlusconi The Bungler

The Top Ten benefits for Bunga Berlusconi being in jail.

1. Will get all the sex he wants, although not kind he was anticipating.

2. Paying off gangsters directly.

3. Still sponsoring Bunga Bunga parties, however but not with sea view.

4. Ceased monopoly of spray on tan in a can.

5. Age appropriate jail – no underage sex.

6. Putin’s mouth piece in Europe gagged.

7. Hair Club for Men subscription denied.

8. Hair piece donated to Burt Reynolds.

9. Teenage girls saved from the clutches of a septuagenarian.

10. AC Milan chances of winning anything greatly increased.

Buddhist Bling

Recent critics of Thai monks living large by way of private jet has caused outcry from Buddhists nationwide. 

Ah maybe we are being a little harsh on them here Monks, let’s face it, all that praying, orange bed sheets attire and ghastly Birkenstocks has to be a bit boring after a while. 

Perhaps the praying was for some material goodies and in preparation for the next life as a Russian billionaire oligarch - one step closer to Nirvana or jail.

I don’t resent the fact that they want Buddhist Bling,but  Buddhist Bachelorette  Nooooooooo.....!!

My dream last night contained horrors never seen before. 

I saw twenty five Bachelor Buddha’s swaging down the tarmac greeting Debbie from Dallas with a bloody rose.This had me reaching for my Kung Fu stars.

I can’t remember the last time I wanted to swallow razor blades, but with recent episodes of the aforementioned it warrants a Fifth Noble Truth.

The truth of dukkha means suffering, anxiety, dissatisfaction; well clearly these monks are well prepped for this show. 

They have had years of training for this day and maybe, and only maybe with guile and perception might brighten up the script to a meaningful level. Holy Crap! Who am I kidding? 

In the Buddhist belief there are Three marks of Existence; Impermanence, suffering, and not-self. 

I would hazard a guess that all three lend a remarkable likeness to the Bachelorette.

Impermanence is something one can wish for,but at a brisker pace.

Suffering; well that’s obvious. 

...and Not Self; clearly an absence from reason has manifested. 

All these Celestial planes, pun intended should provide the Awaking we are all seeking to rid ourselves from crass Network programming.

To my cosmic joy, my dream concluded with a show stopper; Debbie from Dallas was denied eternal bliss and left with a wilting rose in hand, crying in the arms of her production team. The monks retreated in their Ray Bans to the friendly skies, heading for a higher attitude. 

New Normal

Perhaps World War Two never really ended, just an armistice between xenophobic nationals pretending to be Euro – tolerant under the guise of the EU. 

Britain wants nothing to do with European currency and Bulgarian immigration (although European football players get a pass)

Italy can’t decide whether to part their hair on the left or the right. 
Spain rule on the soccer pitch while the country is heading for the ditch. 
Ireland and Portugal want fifteen years to pay back EU loans and France - well the French are the French aren’t they?

Meanwhile…

Just when you thought there was some continuity on the European crisis here’s Cyprus implementing unprecedented measures to stem bankruptcy.

Under orders from Germany’s headmistress Angela Merkel who is fighting for re election, the Cypriot government in voting mode have declared a levy on bank deposits to fund the bailout. 

To touch the holy grail of insured deposits is a might bold attempt at pissing off just about everyone you could imagine. 

However the German taxpayer takes a different view, in true German pragmatism they scream why bailout Russian Gangsters whose plundered gains rest a sunny Mediterranean piggy bank? 

I see their point, except of course legalised robbery and one needs energy, and in case of Russia they have gas and in the past have held Europe to ransom when it comes to pipelines and heating another crappy winter. 

Russia supplies 36% of gas to Europe; that’s a lot power in every sense. 
Despite the German Chancellor’s eagerness to shield the German nation from higher taxes, Vladimir Capone has the upper hand - Stalingrad minus the shelling.  

Could this new standard have repercussions throughout mainland Europe? Quite possible, if nothing else, confidence is in short supply and a new tactic of austerity dictates - your deposits or more taxes. 

If European leaders see this as a trial balloon for bigger economies, it could have catastrophic consequences. For now stock markets in Europe are down, but so far no rush to the ATM.

A fiscal Détente please.

Culinary Conclave

A sensible Republican once said after the Obama 2012 election victory; we are a party of fat, old white men.

Hello that looks remarkably like the Vatican City.

In Rome today the Cardinals of varying plumpness are in a conclave to elect a new Pope.

Shrouded in Secrecy and unbending tradition, 115 Cardinals have the chance to shape history.

Here one might think a fine opportunity could present itself, a moment where an African, Spanish or Asian pope could be elected.

In light of a dwindling European congregation and its historic hold on papacy a change of color would make sense.

South, Central America, Africa and Asia are where the Catholics are for Heaven’s sake – Make it so! In Star Trek vernacular. 

But sense was never the Church of Rome’s forte and indeed much of religion falls short on logic. 

Ironically during the next few days the cardinals will be banished from the outside world. No Twitter, Facebook or phone calls. What a metaphor for the closeted world these powerful men reside.

It would take me days if not months to pinpoint all of the troubles the Church faces and much of it a recurring theme. A recent resignation of the head of the Scottish Catholic church neatly illustrates the ongoing hypocrisy billowing above the Sistine chapel.

There are some interesting specifics concerning this splash of pageantry. This election is the most bet upon non sporting event in the world. A lot of dosh will exchange hands and none of it will pay the Vatican’s heating bills.

Allegedly in the 14^th Century there was a fabulous story concerning Pope Joan who yes, you guessed it, was a woman. To prevent further mayhem chairs were made with large holes to determine the sex of the cardinals or to see who was castrated. 

This wonderfully dovetails into the Room of Tears, a room where the newly appointed pope is overcome with emotion to compose oneself before the Balcony appearance. Tears indeed; a woman pope or castration – you chose?

Instead of white smoke wafting upward to illustrate a decision, how about a culinary starch for indication?

Would it be pasta for an Italian pope, potatoes for a northern hemisphere pope or rice for Africa, Asia and South America pope?