Sunday, 20 February 2011

La Presidente of France: My Plan B

I've been thinking of this for a while now.  I mean, every responsible failed artist needs an alternative career path and really, how hard can it be?  Plus, I think I'm pretty qualified for the job:  looks good in heels, check; can multitask with everything and a cocktail, yes; able to cope with punishing vacation schedule, oui; rockstar shagability, indeed; ability to govern a number of pricks at any one time, affirmative.

Anyway, apart from the incredibly taxing (ah ha ha really, my irony knows no bounds) range of skills listed above, there is also the small matter of looking good whilst tapping a cow's arse to take into consideration and no, I am not talking about Carla Bruni.  Take exhibit A:

Or the old school version, from someone refreshingly not at the cow's eye level:

Thus it was that this Sunday I enrolled myself in pre-Presidential training aka Le Salon de l'agriculture (it's officially got 'international' in the title, but I just can't give that a pass), where a number of mysteries were solved:

- contrary to the urban legend, there are ugly women in Paris, and it seems they are all ring-fenced here
- as a result of the above, this now explains who buys the rainbow eyeshadow colour palettes they sell in Monoprix on the Champs Elysees
- at last Mireille Giuliano I have definitive proof that French Women Do Get Fat so please, go home, and take that bloody book with you

On second thoughts, not many presidential campaigns were won on this level of honesty.  Scratch that, ladies, you all look shit hot:

Oh, and btw, if you were looking for the 'international' element, blink and you'd miss it:

And in case you are still not convinced of my truly excellent credentials for the job, see below:

See, I told you, I'm a natural.

P.S.  Lenny Kravitz, if you're reading this, I think you'd make an excellent first lady.  There's even a music room :)

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