Quote:
Originally Posted by Cyndalie
When I got back from Toronto after Webmaster Access I made some comments regarding how bad the food was there and how everything tasted a bit 'off'.
I now know that it wasn't the food that was off, it was me. I didn't know I was pregnant then, and my sense of smell and taste was whacked out. That was actually my first symptom. On the flight home I thought I could smell every single persons BO on that plane and described it as a 'bouquet of human scents'. It was nasty.
So, Pardonez-moi!
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well my taste buds were working just fine. Canadian food is related to UK food. 
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The details of my life are quite inconsequential.... very well, where do i
begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from
Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen
year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark.Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds- pretty standard really. At the age of twelve I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteena Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is
nothing like a shorn scrotum... it's breathtaking- I highly suggest you try it.
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